"But what happened?" demanded the Doctor. "Even Hasayampa must have had
some theory about it."
"Well," drawled Limber, "ol' Injun George, wher he heerd about it said
he had been puttin' pizen out, and findin' a half et pig had fixed up
the carcass for the lion, and he allowed the one that visited Hasayampa
had made a meal of that pig. But Hasayampa always stuck to it that the
lion had naturally died of heart disease and nervous prostration brung
on by the excitement. Anyway, that's how Hasayampa Bill won the lion
record in Arizona."
"He proved his right to spell the word both ways," grinned the doctor as
Limber reined Peanut toward the head of the herd.
They were approaching the outskirts of Willcox. Already their advent was
being heralded by hysterical yelps from innumerable dogs belonging to
the Mexican families who occupied shacks at the outskirts of the town.
Each shack blazed with strings of dried, red chili peppers, while
countless children grouped about each door, or the women gossiped
volubly.
The cattle were driven into the shipping corrals a short distance from
town. The gates secured, Limber and Powell rode side by side up the
dusty street to the Cowboys' Rest and left their horses in charge of
Buckboard.
Several other shipments were in town, being inspected according to rule
of precedent. The railroad company was frequently short of engines to
transport the heavy trains of cattle, and it often happened that a bunch
of stock was delayed a week or longer before starting for its
destination. In such event, the cattle were held on the range near town,
or in some fenced pasture close at hand which was rented for the time
necessary.
Limber had put in his order so as to insure the right of way when the
cattle from the Hot Springs and Diamond H should arrive in town. He was
anxious to ascertain whether they could load out that afternoon or not.
The foreman and Doctor Powell walked up the main street together,
stopping to speak to other cowmen, many of whom had not before met the
new owner of the Hot Springs and PL ranches.
Bronco, Holy and Roarer spied and welcomed them vociferously, and Limber
was informed that the Diamond H cattle were on a pasture, half a mile
from town. The Inspector would be ready to handle their shipment right
after lunch, as the cars and engine would be on time for them.
"I'll stop for the mail," suggested Powell as they passed the
post-office, and suiting the action to the words he turned in the store,
while the others continued their way to the Chinese restaurant.
They were about to enter, when Walton, carrying an old-fashioned carpet
grip hurried through the door.
"Hello, Walton," was Limber's casual greeting.
Walton, seeing them, stopped short and regarded the group with an angry
stare, then without replying, he rushed across the street to the
railroad station, where the east-bound train was puffing.
"Seems in a hurry," commented Limber as they watched Walton climb aboard
the train.
"Mebbe he's goin' to get married," grinned Bronco, "and he's scairt for
fear somethin' will happen to them whiskers again."
Walton's face appeared at one of the windows of the day-coach. As the
train puffed past the men, his eyes rested on them in mingled triumph
and malice.
"Hump!" grunted Holy, "Looks like he'd just drawed four aces!"
"Well, I'm glad the country is shet of him," piped Roarer as they met
Doctor Powell and imparted the item of news to him.
Powell handed a letter to Limber. The pencil writing was crude and the
sheet of paper bore an enormous, brilliant red rose across one corner.
The eyes of the other cowpunchers focused on that rose, as the letter
had been folded backward.
"Looks like a love-letter," insinuated Bronco. "Say, Limber ain't that
addressed to Holy? He's the only one of the outfit that writes letters
to ladies, you know."
"It's been in the post-office a week," commented Limber, and they drew
closer as he read aloud:
_Dere Limber_--I seen Walton puttin' the Diamond H on a Lazy F calf
and I give him a week to quit the country. He sold out to a fellow
from Douglas, so I guess there won't be no more trouble from him.
It wood be hard to make a case that would stick against him,
because he wasn't branding the calves for himself. He's a little
off his cabazza, and them green whiskers stuck in his craw. My
regards to the Boss and the boys.
Yours truly,