Atlanta Daily World

After years of absence, Blaise Randell is returning by stage coach to his California ranch. His pal, Hal King, accompanies him. Blaise dreams of wedded bliss ahead with his old sweetheart, Melanie. When a coarse fellow passenger tries to press his attentions on the only young lady riding in the coach with them, Hal and Blaise spring to her defense.

CHAPTER TWO
THE STAGE driver finished eating and came to the bar for a drink. Blaise caught the quick signal that passed from man to man. The riders hastily downed their drinks and walked outside, swaggering a little. Blaise straightened, sensing something wrong. The proprietor had stopped midway from the kitchen to table, his face frozen, eyes stricken. Blaise and Hal turned together and instantly a man at the door drew his gun in a swift, smooth motion. The girl gasped and Blaise froze as the black gun muzzle swung toward him.
"You will be very still, senors ... and senorita. There will be no harm, I think."
A gun blasted outside and instantly the shotgun roared a deep, throaty cough that slapped against the walls. More gunshots came in quick succession. Hal's eyes widened.
"A holdup!"
His hands rested close to a bottle. He grabbed it, and hurled it at the man at the door in a single, flowing motion. At the same time, he threw himself away from the bar. The guard half turned, saw the bottle hurtling toward him and ducked. His gun hand twisted and the Colt thundered in the room, the bullet digging splinters from the wall beyond the bar.
Blaise slipped to a half crouch and his hand dropped to his Colt. The weapon snapped up, fell back in his palm and bucked as he pulled the trigger. The slug cut a long splinter from the doorframe and made the bandit jerk away.
Hal threw himself in a flying tackle, coming in low and fast. His shoulder struck the man in the stomach as his arms wrapped around him. They hit the wall with a shaking thud and the bandit's gun flew from his hand.
Bullets smashed into the building and Blaise ducked to cover. Hal fired twice more and then dropped below the window as lead smashed the glass in a shower of crystals.
Blaise caught a man racing from the coach to the hitchrack. His gun jumped and the man's legs went rubbery as he plowed face forward into the hard ground.
The bandits suddenly broke from the rack, racing away around the corner of the building and out of sight. The sound of hoofs thundered loud and then faded away toward the mountains to the south.
Two men were dead, another sat with a smashed shoulder, moaning softly. The driver hurried to the guard and turned him over. He blinked and shook his head, looking around and up at Blaise.
"Three bullets," he said in quiet anger. "Any one would've killed im. Bob never had a chance."
Blaise nodded, face set. "They paid for it and you've got two left to hang."
"And they will!" The driver stood up. "I'll see Bill's taken care of, and lock them two up for the sheriff. But I ain't got a guard."
"Go without one," Hal suggested.
"Mister, it can't be done. That strongbox carries money from a Los Angeles bank to one in Buenaventura. We got to--" He stopped, eyeing Blaise.
"You'll do, friend, the way you handle a Colt."
"Would you trust your strong box with a San Quentin jailbird?"
The driver blinked. "You?"
Blaise nodded and turned away. The driver caught his sleeve.
"You're still guard for my money. Someone made a mistake, I reckon. Never saw men could handle guns as fast as you and your partner.
Here, mister. You got a job ...and a reward as soon as I can tell the Company what happened."
He pushed the heavy shotgun into Blaise's hands.
"Looks like you're elected," Hal said.
Blaise grunted and shook his head.
"A funny world, Hal, when a murderer and a robber guard a strongbox. But who ever made much sense of it, anyway?"
Blaise watched the Valley as the coach jogged along. He had been afraid that it might have changed, but it hadn't. It was good to be back, good to see that nothing had changed. It was still serene ... except for that little pocket to the west where Calabasas lay. But man had changed that ... man, and greed and a lust for power.
Blaise's lips slowly pressed and the soft light faded from his eyes. Perhaps that would be unchanged, too.
"You live in these parts?" the driver asked.
"Used to, years ago."
He was not gruff, but his brevity discouraged conversation. The driver watched the road for a long while before he tried again.
"Thought you might live somewhere's close. Maybe I could get you a job riding shotgun guard for the line. It pays good."
"I couldn't get the job if I wanted it," Blaise said. "Forget it, friend."
"Well now, you'd at least take a reward, wouldn't you!"
Blaise grinned. "Might."
"Then where'll they find you?"
"Right now, I'd say Calabasas. But it might be a thousand miles away ... or boothill."
"You go right well with the sunshine and the flowers," the driver grunted.
As they approached Calabasas, climbing over the Chalk hills, Blaise straightened, showing more interest.
"Good country," he said half aloud. "Good cattle country."
The driver turned, giving him a long, surprised look. "Since when, mister?"
"Always was."
"Have you seen a cow since we dropped into the Valley? There ain't been cattle to speak of for I don't know how long ... more'n the five years I've been on the run."
"Gone? ... five years!" Blaise's jaw dropped. "Why?"
"A drought that killed cattle off like flies." He slapped the reins.
"Only Scorpion runs cattle and few head at that. It just ain't good business no more."
Blaise stared ahead, eyes narrowed. "Scorpion! Leonis still run it?"
"Hercule Leonis, that's right. A big man in these parts, but a bad'n to cross. Maybe you knew him?"
"Maybe," Blaise said.
"Never saw the man myself. But I heard ..." He noticed the fierce turmoil in Blaise's eyes. "Almost to Calabasas now. Sure I can't talk you into riding on ... or taking the job regular?"
Blaise shook his head and then looked up, smiling. "Not for a while. I might go into the cattle business."
The driver blinked. "But--"
"It's no good," Blaise finished for him. "I know, but neither am I."
They approached the far end of the Valley. Blaise saw a glitter ahead, the reflection of sun on glass, and then he had his first glimpse of the town. There lay journey's end, and the beginning of a new life.
"Calabasas. You got time to stretch before we roll on," the driver said.
He climbed down, then called up to Blaise. "Give me that new carpetbag right behind you under the tarp, will you?"
Blaise found it and pitched it to the driver. The girl had descended and stood beside the driver, looking up at Blaise. She was beautiful... She smiled up at him.
Blaise took off his hat. "I must thank you," she said, "for all of us. You were very brave."
"Oh, now--"
"But you were."
Her eyes danced. "And my personal thanks for protecting me all the way from Los Angeles."
Blaise chuckled. "It was a pleasure ... and easy. If Mr. Scarne played poker, he'd've known a bluff when he seen one."
"I wonder." She became serious. "If you're staying in Calabasas, I hope to see you."
"It will be a pleasure, ma'am though I don't really know how long I'll be around."
She smiled again and turned away, picking up her carpetbag.
Blaise jumped from the seat to help her. A tall man, dressed in checked shirt and levis had come up to her, respectfully touching his hat. He took the bag and placed it behind the seat of a shining black surrey. The team that drew the buggy had not been bought in this part of the country. They were coal black with the lines of Arabian and Morgan in them.
The man helped the girl into the surrey, climbed in the seat and lifted the reins. The buggy rolled away in a cloud of dust, heading southward toward the mountains.
Blaise stared after it, then shook his head.
"Now there was a rich girl for you, Hal. Your troubles would've been over."
"She wouldn't see no one but you," Hal said.
"You could've told her I got me a girl waiting." Blaise grinned.
"You ain't quick to turn things your way."
(To Be Continued)

like flies." He slapped the reins.