<h2 id="id01349" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XX</h2>
<h4 id="id01350" style="margin-top: 2em">JOAN</h4>
<p id="id01351">"Them were the days when this was a man's country, which a man could
climb on his hoss with a gun and a rope and touch heaven and hell in one
day's ridin'. Them good old days ain't no more. I've heard the old man
tell about 'em. Now they've got everybody stamped and branded with law
an' order, herded together like cattle, ticketed, done for. That's the
way the range is now. The marshals have us by the throat. In the old
days a sheriff that outlived his term was probably crooked and runnin'
hand in hand with the long-riders."</p>
<p id="id01352">"Long-riders?" queried Bard.</p>
<p id="id01353">"Fellers that got tired of workin' and took to ridin' for their livin'.
Mostly they worked in little gangs of five and six. They was called
long-riders, I guess, partly because they was in the saddle all the
time, and partly because they done their jobs so far apart. They'd ride
into Eldara and blow up the safe in the bank one day, for instance, and
five days later they'd be two hundred and fifty miles away stoppin' a
train at Lewis Station.</p>
<p id="id01354">"They never hung around no one part of the country and that made it hard
as hell to run 'em down—that and because they had the best hosses that
money could buy. They had friends, too, strung out all over—squatters
and the like of that. They'd drop in on these little fellers and pass
'em a couple of twenties and make themselves solid for life. Afterward
they used 'em for stoppin' places.</p>
<p id="id01355">"They'd pull off a couple of hold-ups, then they'd ride off to one of
these squatter places and lay up for ten days, maybe, drinkin' and
feedin' up themselves and their hosses. That was the only way they was
ever caught. They was killed off by each other, fighting about the
split-up, or something like that.</p>
<p id="id01356">"But now and then a gang held together long enough to raise so much hell
that they got known from one end of the range to the other. Mostly they
held together because they had a leader who knew how to handle 'em and
who kept 'em under his thumb. That was the way with old Piotto.</p>
<p id="id01357">"He had five men under him. They was all hell-benders who had ridden the
range alone and had their share of fights and killings, which there
wasn't one of 'em that wouldn't have been good enough to go leader in
any other crew, but they had to knuckle under to old Piotto. He was a
great gunman and he was pretty good in scheming up ways of dodging the
law and picking the best booty. He had these five men, and then he had
his daughter, Joan. She was better'n two ordinary men herself.</p>
<p id="id01358">"Three years that gang held together and got rich—fair rich. They made
it so fast they couldn't even gamble the stuff away. About a thousand
times, I guess posses went out after Piotto, but they never came back
with a trace of 'em; they never got within shootin' distance. Finally
Piotto got so confident that he started raidin' ranches and carryin' off
members of well-off ranchers to hold for ransom. That was the easiest
way of makin' money; it was also pretty damned dangerous.</p>
<p id="id01359">"One time they held up a stage and picked off of it two kids who was
comin' out from the East to try their hands in the cattle business. They
was young, they looked like gentlemen, they was dressed nifty, and they
packed big rolls. So wise old Piotto took 'em off into the hills and
held 'em till their folks back East could wire out the money to save
'em. That was easy money for Piotto, but that was the beginnin' of the
end for him; because while they was waitin', them two kids seen Joan and
seen her good.</p>
<p id="id01360">"I been telling you she was better'n two common men. She was. Which
means she was equal to about ten ordinary girls. There's still a legend
about how beautiful Joan Piotto was—tall and straight and big black
eyes and terrible handy with her gun. She could ride anything that
walked and she didn't know what fear meant.</p>
<p id="id01361">"These two kids seen her. One of 'em was William Drew; one of 'em was<br/>
John Bard."<br/></p>
<p id="id01362">He turned to Anthony and saw that the latter was stern of face. He had
surely scored his point.</p>
<p id="id01363">"Same name as yours, eh?" he asked, to explain his turning.</p>
<p id="id01364">"It's a common enough name," murmured Bard.</p>
<p id="id01365">"Well, them two had come out to be partners, and there they was, fallin'
in love with the same girl. So when they got free they put their heads
together—bein' uncommon wise kids—and figured it out this way. Neither
of 'em had a chance workin' alone to get Joan way from her father's
gang, but workin' together they might have a ghost of a show. So they
decided to stay on the trail of Piotto till they got Joan. Then they'd
give her a choice between the two of 'em and the one that lost would
simply back off the boards.</p>
<p id="id01366">"They done what they agreed. For six months they stuck on the trail of
old Piotto and never got in hailin' distance of him. Then they come on
the gang while they were restin' up in the house of a squatter.</p>
<p id="id01367">"That was a pretty night. Drew and Bard went through that gang. It
sounds like a nice fairy-story, all right, but I know old fellers who'll
swear it's true. They killed three of the men with their guns; they
knifed another one, an' they killed Riley with their bare hands. It
wasn't no pretty sight to see—the inside of that house. And last of all
they got Piotto, fightin' like an old wildcat, into a corner with his
daughter; and William Drew, he took Piotto into his arms and busted his
back. That don't sound possible, but when you see Drew you'll know how
it was done.</p>
<p id="id01368">"The girl, she'd been knocked cold before this happened. So while Bard
and Drew sat together bindin' up each other's wounds—because they was
shot pretty near to pieces—they talked it over and they seen pretty
clear that the girl would never marry the man that had killed her
father. Of course, old Bill Drew, he'd done the killing, but that wasn't
any reason why he had to take the blame.</p>
<p id="id01369">"They made up their minds that right there and then with the dead men
lyin' all around 'em, they'd match coins to see which one would take the
blame of havin' killed Piotto—meanin' that the other one would get the
girl—if he could.</p>
<p id="id01370">"And Bard lost. So he had to take the credit of havin' killed old
Piotto. I'd of give something to have seen the two of 'em sittin'
there—oozin' blood—after that marchin' was decided. Because they tell
me that Bard was as big as Drew and looked pretty much the same.</p>
<p id="id01371">"Then Bard, he asked Drew to let him have one chance at the girl,
lettin' her know first what he'd done, but jest trustin' to his power of
talk. Which, of course, didn't give him no show. While he was makin'
love to the girl she outs with a knife and tries to stick him—nice,
pleasant sort she must have been—and Drew, he had to pry the two of 'em
apart.</p>
<p id="id01372">"That made the girl look sort of kind on Drew and she swore that sooner
or later she'd have the blood of Bard for what he'd done—either have it
herself or else send someone after him to the end of the world. She was
a wild one, all right.</p>
<p id="id01373">"She was so wild that Drew, after they got married, took her over on the
far side of the range and built that old house that's rottin' there
now. Bard, he left the range and wasn't never seen again, far as I
know."</p>
<p id="id01374">It was clear to Anthony, bitterly clear. His father had had a grim scene
in parting with Drew and had placed the continent between them. And in
the Eastern states he had met that black-eyed girl, his mother, and
loved her because she was so much like the wild daughter of Piotto. The
girl Joan in dying had probably extracted from Drew a promise that he
would kill Bard, and that promise he had lived to fulfil.</p>
<p id="id01375">"So Joan died?" he queried.</p>
<p id="id01376">"Yep, and was buried under them two trees in front of the house. I don't
think she lived long after they was married, but about that nobody
knows. They was clear off by themselves and there isn't any one can tell
about their life after they was married. All we know is that Drew didn't
get over her dyin'. He ain't over it yet, and goes out to the old place
every month or so to potter around the grave and keep the grass and the
weeds off of it and clean the head-stone."</p>
<p id="id01377">The candle guttered wildly on the floor. It had burnt almost to the wood
and now the remnant of the wick stood in a little sprawling pool of
grease white at the outer edges.</p>
<p id="id01378">Bard yawned, and patted idly the blanket where it touched on the shape
of the revolver beneath. In another moment that candle would gutter out
and they would be left in darkness.</p>
<p id="id01379">He said: "That's the best yarn I've heard in a good many days; it's
enough to make any one sleepy—so here goes."</p>
<p id="id01380">And he turned deliberately on his side.</p>
<p id="id01381">Nash, his eyes staring with incredulity, sat up slowly among his
blankets and his hand stole up toward the noose of the lariat. A light
snore reached him, hardly a snore so much as the heavy intake of breath
of a very weary, sleeping man; yet the hand of Nash froze on the lariat.</p>
<p id="id01382">"By God," he whispered faintly to himself, "he ain't asleep!"</p>
<p id="id01383">And the candle flared wildly, leaped, and shook out.</p>
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