Raw Land by Luke; Short

won’t hurt Danning. We can get the place now.”
    Milt said nothing more. He turned on his heel and walked away. His thoughts were bleak and terrible as he tramped across the cinders to the boardwalk. He felt a guilt in Chap Hale’s death. True, the old man was eighty; death didn’t matter so much. But what did matter was that Pres was drawing him into something evil and sinister, and he was helpless to pull out. Slowly and irrevocably, he was being drawn into it.
    He passed the sheriff’s office, and immediately afterward the door opened. He heard it shut, heard a woman’s footsteps on the boardwalk, and then a voice called, “Milt Barron!”
    Milt waited. It was Becky Case, he saw, as she came closer. He touched his hat and smiled, feeling a lift at the sight of something as beautiful and clean as this girl.
    She fell in beside him and said, “I just saw Will.”
    â€œHe’s all right, isn’t he?”
    â€œYes. He had a message for you.”
    Milt looked at her curiously, and Becky went on. “He said he wanted you to go out to the ranch tonight, right now, without coming to see him, even.”
    Milt said uneasily, “Did he say why?”
    â€œHe said he was afraid to leave the ranch alone in case—well, in case it was raided again. By us, I suppose.”
    Milt laughed boyishly. “That’s a funny message comin’ from the people he’s supposed to be afraid of.”
    Becky laughed. They were even with the hotel now, and Milt wanted to go in and talk with her. He was hungry for a woman’s company, hungry for just a look at a pretty woman. There was a scattering of men in the lobby, Milt could see as he glanced through the lobby window.
    And then, just as he was about to look away, he yanked his gaze back.
    There, half turned to him, sitting under one of the overhead lamps and talking to a couple of men, was Charlie Sommers.
    Milt felt his stomach coil in fear. He stared at the man, fascinated, and then Becky’s voice said, “You’ve been holding that door handle for a half minute, Milt. Aren’t you going to let me in?”
    â€œSure. Yes, sure,” Milt said hastily. He looked at Becky, a sick smile on his face, and touched his hat.
    â€œGood night.”
    He was gone down street, head turned toward the opposite sidewalk, before Becky had time to answer him.

Chapter Seven
    F RAME -U P
    A little before noon next day Will was hauled before the justice of the peace, whose chambers were the Masonic Hall over Dunn’s General Store, and fined twenty-five dollars. The fine was suspended, but not before the judge, true to Charlie Sommers’s prediction, gave Will a scolding for accusing innocent people of serious crimes. Will took it without a word, and afterward was freed. Sheriff Phipps, with Chap Hale’s murder on his hands, put in only a perfunctory appearance, warned Will to keep away from Harry Mygrave, and then went out to resume his investigation at Chap’s office.
    Will went to the barbership to get cleaned up. Lying there in the chair, eyes closed, while the barber shaved him, he had several things to think about. First was Milt. Will had stayed awake far into the night trying to puzzle out why Milt would have wanted to see Chap. And did his talk with Chap have any connection with Chap’s death? With a stern impartiality, Will made himself consider that, but he couldn’t see any connection. Milt was with him when Chap was killed, and he’d joined in the hunt for the killer. No, Milt was clear—but why had he argued so violently with Chap?
    The other thing that troubled Will was the disposition of the spread. Chap still owned it. There might be some tiresome court requirements to go through before Will could get it. However, Chap’s letters and the fact that he had accepted Will’s money would be proof enough to the court that the executors of Chap’s estate would be morally