Free Savage Range by Luke; Short Page A

no man would doubt my word.” He flipped out a sack of tobacco. “It’s bedtime for you, sis. Turn in and sleep all day if you can. Jim will bunk down on the couch.”
    Mary demurred, but Cope was stubborn, and she gave in. When he and Jim were alone, Cope smoked in silence, frowning.
    Jim said suddenly, quietly, “Haynes took Ben Beauchamp, didn’t he?”
    Surprise flooded Cope’s face. “I was tryin’ to think how to tell you. How’d you know?”
    Jim shrugged. “He wouldn’t suspect you. You were the only man out of the office, the only one that had the chance to break me out. Besides Ben Beauchamp, that is. Where is Ben?”
    â€œIn the bank vault,” Cope said quietly. “It’s the only jail we got till the other’s fixed.”
    â€œWhat’s Haynes goin’ to do about Ben?”
    â€œHold him for trial. Aidin’ a murderer to escape.”
    Jim said gently, “Oh, no, he isn’t.”
    â€œHe’s doin’ it, ain’t he?”
    â€œNow, yes. But not for long.”
    Cope stared at him. “You mean you’re goin’ to break Ben Beauchamp out of that vault?”
    â€œI am.”
    Cope didn’t speak for a long moment, and when he did it was with bitterness. “You mean you’ll risk gettin’ shot—risk, hell! You will get shot! You mean you’ll do that when you know how much we count on you?”
    â€œI pay back my debts,” Jim murmured.
    â€œDebt? What do you owe that yellowbellied kid except a kick in the pants for talkin’ so much?”
    â€œHe wouldn’t be in there if it wasn’t for me.”
    â€œYou’ll break him out?”
    â€œI will.”
    Cope sighed and then smiled gently. “I hoped you’d say that. I don’t like it, but I like you for doin’ it, Wade.”
    Jim found he was liking Jack Cope. When you got behind the wall of his toughness, you discovered that his single devotion to Mary Buckner had made a strange man of Jack Cope. He was human and compassionate, but as patient as an Indian, hard as granite, and more stubborn than a hunting dog. When he talked of Mary, his eyes lighted up, and his jaw set grimly, and a man understood without his saying it that she was his life. He talked about her now.
    â€œHow you goin’ to crack Excelsior up, Wade?” he asked.
    Jim shook his head. “I don’t know.”
    â€œI’ll tell you one thing,” Cope said grimly. “If it was only me—or you—concerned in this, I’d take a gun and go choose Max Bonsell. After that I’d choose Harvey Buckner. But while Mary’s in it, we can’t do it.”
    â€œIt may come to that.”
    â€œMaybe,” Cope said. “It’ll break her heart, though. She thinks she hates Harvey Buckner. But it ain’t in the girl to hate a man the killin’ way.”
    Jim leaned back in his chair and let Cope talk about her. But he wasn’t listening. Minutes later, when Cope looked over at him and saw his inattention, the talk ceased.
    Jim said then, “If we bust this open now, Cope, and beat Bonsell and Buckner, we’ll have those squatters to deal with still, won’t we?”
    Cope nodded cautiously.
    â€œHow many of ’em?”
    â€œFifteen or so.”
    â€œAnd they’ll fight?”
    â€œTo the last damn ditch.”
    Jim brought his chair to the floor and leaned across the table toward Cope.
    â€œWho’ll win this fight between the squatters and Bonsell?”
    â€œBonsell, of course. He’s got ’em half licked now.”
    â€œThen why not let him lick ’em the whole way, shove ’em off, sweep the range clean? Why not let him do it now instead of us doin’ it later? Because downin’ Bonsell and Buckner is only half our job if Mary wants the Ulibarri grant. The squatters are the other half.”
    Cope regarded Jim with shrewd eyes.