sick man to try to get well. We’ve got to get Mr. Marks back to the
ranch and get him there at once.”
“This is my pardner, Chuck Meade,” said Slim, introducing his companion
and the range boss of the Box B.
“Glad to know you,” said Chuck, as he shook Joe Haines’ hand with real
warmth.
“Hear you’ve signed on to work with us and I’m glad of it. We need all
the good boys we can get.”
The foreman hurried on into the office and Slim and Chuck had an
opportunity to talk alone.
“What happened?” Slim asked eagerly.
“You mean what didn’t quite happen? Well, it was about half an hour
after you left and I was still trying to wake up when I heard someone
creeping along outside the front of the office. We had all of the
curtains pulled down but it was so hot we had to leave the door open. I
blew out the lamp and jumped through the doorway. In the darkness I
stumbled and when I got up the hombre that had been trying to do the
sneak act was running down the street past the hotel. I let him have a
few slugs to stir things up, but I missed him.”
“You think he was after Marks?”
“I know it. Here’s what I found outside this morning. The fellow was in
such a hurry he dropped it.”
Chuck pulled out a revolver which he had stuck in the belt of his
trousers.
“We were afraid something like this might have happened. Joe Haines told
me his boss was taking some cash to the bank at Brighton and had planned
to ride around Dirty Water in the night and take the train at Mopstick.
You see any money on him?”
Just then Joe Haines emerged from the Doctor’s office.
“If one of you boys will go around to the stable and get the team ready,
we’ll start for the ranch. We’re taking the boss home. The money is
safe.”
“Good thing,” said Chuck. “I’ll get the team.”
Fifteen minutes later they carried the owner of the Box B out of the
office and placed him on a mattress in the bottom of the wagon. Slim had
settled for their room at the hotel and at the same time had made the
purchase of the mattress. Joe Haines took the reins of the team while
Slim had a lead rope on Joe’s horse. They eased across the shallow bed
of Stony creek and started the dusty ride to the ranch.
As they moved away from Dirty Water, Slim turned in his saddle. Hal
Titzell, immaculately dressed, was standing on the stoop of the Palace
Hotel, watching the small cavalcade and Slim thought that the expression
on the face of the cattle buyer was anything but pleasant.
They made slow progress, Joe Haines driving carefully to ease the jolts
for the injured man on the mattress. Slim rode alongside the wagon and
conversed with Joe.
“If it’s all right with you, I’m going to swing off the main trail and
see if I can follow the fellow who did the shooting last night,” he
said.
“Go ahead,” urged Joe. “If you catch up with him, treat him like you did
the rattlesnake this morning.”
A few minutes later Slim turned away from the trail to the ranch and
headed more directly toward the Three Soldiers. He had little difficulty
in following the trail for the rider had been pushing his horse hard.
Slim swung along at an easy lope, a pace that Lightning could hold all
day. The trail was leading into the foothills of the Three Soldiers and
shortly after midday Slim stopped beside a creek to allow Lightning to
drink and graze. He had no food for himself, but breakfast at the Box B
had been hearty enough to ward off the pangs of hunger until nightfall.
It was mid afternoon when Slim found the place where the unknown rider
had stopped to rest himself and his mount. A handful of ashes were still
warm and he pushed on with renewed hope. His quarry could not be more
than three hours’ ride ahead and on a horse that should be tiring
rapidly.
Slim leaped off Lightning and got down to examine the tracks he was
following. He wanted the memory of the hoof marks stamped indelibly on
his mind. Somewhere in the valley he might come across them again even
though the coming night might let his quarry escape this time. The left
rear shoe had a V-shaped nick that made it easily recognizable anywhere
and after studying the other tracks for some outstanding characteristic,
Slim remounted Lightning and pushed steadily ahead. The pace was faster
now, and the sturdy sorrel seemed to scent that a chase was on.
They had been climbing for the last two hours and Slim knew that they
were well behind and above the Box B layout. It was half an hour before
sunset when, from a promontory, he looked down on the ranch buildings,
snuggled in the rich valley which was the heart of the Box B.
As the shadows deepened in the Three Soldiers, Slim knew that his quarry
was safe for the night. In spite of Lightning’s superior speed and the
ease with which he had been able to follow the trail, it would be
impossible to overtake the rider ahead.
Slim watered Lightning at a mountain stream and pondered what to do
next. It would be a hard ride down to the ranch, but he was hungry. On
the other hand, if he stayed in the foothills, he could press on the
first thing in the morning, perhaps overtaking the man he sought before
he struck the trail again.
Slim’s innate stubbornness and determination to stick to a job until the
end finally decided him and he made a crude camp beside the tiny stream.
There was plenty of grass for Lightning, but Slim went hungry for the
second meal that day. He hitched his belt a trifle tighter and unrolled
his blanket.
With the first streak of dawn over the distant Cajons, he had Lightning
saddled and ready for the trail. An hour later he came upon the
overnight camp of the unknown rider and his heart leaped. The trail was
getting hot. Another hour and he should be within striking distance.
Slim felt that if he could but overtake the gunman who had shot down the
owner of the Box B, he would have captured an important man in the gang
of rustlers. It might be the opening wedge to splitting up the gang and
freeing the entire valley of the menace which hung over the cow country.
The rosy hue of the dawn faded into a slate grey and misty clouds
whirled around the peaks of the Three Soldiers. It looked like rain, the
first in weeks.
Slim exclaimed bitterly, for a rain at this time would obliterate the
trail and his day of hard riding would be without reward. Talking almost
constantly to Lightning, he pushed the sorrel as rapidly as the rough
ground would permit. He knew that he was gaining steadily and if the
rain would only hold off another hour, he should have his quarry.
The gray clouds swept lower as Slim pressed along through the foothills,
praying that the rain would hold back a few minutes longer. But the
skies opened and the long-delayed rain descended in torrents. The trail
faded before his eyes and Slim turned back and headed out of the
foothills. So far the rustlers held the upper hand.
Chapter Fourteen
Powder to Burn
Night settled over the Creeping Shadows country on the wings of the
storm and Slim still faced a long, wet ride back to the Box B. It was
unfamiliar country, but he knew in a general way the shortest route to
the ranch and he struck out cross-country.
The rain fell in torrents, and he kept to the higher ground, working his
way slowly out of the foothills. The long-needed rain would be worth
thousands to the valley, freshening the grass which had been burned
brown by the prolonged drought.
In spite of the long hours on the trail and the hard pace of the last
few hours, Lightning made good time, and a little after ten o’clock Slim
caught sight of the lights of the ranch. The yellow pin points of light
dispelled some of the misery of the night and disappointment of having
the trail washed out from under him.
The rain was cold, and in spite of the poncho, rivulets of water ran
down his neck and he became thoroughly chilled. They struck one of the
ranch trails, and Lightning quickened her pace. She was as anxious as
Slim to get protection from the weather.
The ride in from the foothills gave Slim a chance to think over the
situation in the valley. There were certainly some unusual elements
involved.
First, there had been the shooting on the Sky High trail, in which Chuck
had been ambushed and then the attempt to kill the owner of the Box B.
It was evident that things were moving rapidly toward a climax.
Slim thought of his brief visit at Dirty Water and checked over one by
one the men he had met there. The storekeeper and his clerk could be
eliminated from important roles in the rustling gang, but Hal Titzell
was a puzzling figure. It was obvious that he had plenty of nerve and at
least an explanation for his presence in the valley, but Slim questioned
whether he actually had been buying any cattle. That was something he
determined to find out.
It simply wasn’t possible for cattle to disappear without some trace,
and Slim wondered why the Box B cowboys had been unable to find the
rendezvous of the rustlers. Then there must be a shipping point for the
stock. The normal place was Mopstick, outside the valley, but there
might be another loading yard nearer along the railroad that was being
used.
As Slim mulled over the possibilities, he realized that he and Chuck
were going to be in for some busy days before the mystery of the
rustling on the Box B could be solved.
Slim rode into the valley which sheltered the headquarters of the Box B
and Lightning sloshed toward the corral. Chuck, who had been listening
for Slim’s approach, came running with a lantern under his slicker. He
opened the gate, and horse and rider passed inside the corral. There was
a pole lean-to, with a thatched roof, at one side of the corral and the
horses were gathered under this protection.
“What luck?” asked Chuck.
“None,” replied Slim. “I was within half an hour of my man when the
storm broke. The trail just melted out in front of my eyes and I turned
and headed for home.”
“Had anything to eat?”
“Not a thing since yesterday morning.”
“Gosh, you must be starved. Lee Wu’s kept some food hot for you. Better
get over to the cookhouse and fill up. I’ll go up to the house and tell
Joe Haines and the boss. They’ve been mighty anxious about you.”
“I’ll eat in a little bit,” said Slim, as he pulled his saddle off
Lightning. “What do you think of the outfit here?”
“Everything rings true to me, except Doug Huston. He hasn’t made a move
out of the way, but I don’t like his eyes.”
“Neither do I. Maybe it’s unfair to Doug, but I’m going to play a hunch
and keep a mighty close watch on him. Think the other boys suspect we’re
anything but a couple of punchers?”
“No one except Joe Haines, and he knows we’re not out here just for the
fun of it.”
“I’m not worried about Joe, but I don’t want the others to get
suspicious and I especially want them to keep out of Dirty Water where
they might start talking.”
“I guess we’ll be too busy riding range for anyone to get to town for a
couple of weeks.”
“This thing will go one way or another by that time. We’ll either have
the rustlers behind bars or they’ll have control of the valley. Let’s
go.”
They splashed through the mud of the corral and made their way to the
cookhouse. Lee Wu, who had been reading, welcomed Slim.
“Supper hot,” he said.
“I’m going up to the house. See you later.” Chuck left the cookhouse and
Slim was alone with the Chinese cook.
Lee Wu hurried in with hot food. There was plenty of hash, bread, and
coffee and Lee opened a can of sliced peaches.
“I’m just about starved,” grinned Slim, as one mouthful of food followed
another. “Haven’t had a thing since yesterday morning.”
“Can fix more hash,” grinned Lee Wu.
“No thanks. This will fill me up. Say, Wu, you’re a real cook. I never
tasted better hash.”
“Not bad, not bad,” chuckled Wu. “Like that myself.” He sat down
opposite Slim and took a generous helping of his own hash.
“Catch bushwhacker?” he asked.
Slim looked up gloomily. “No, Wu. I was almost up with him when the rain
started and the trail was washed out. Better luck the next time.”
“Tough place. Plenty boys come and work here while and then drift on.
Afraid of getting bullet in back. No one bother Wu though.”
“Why not?”
The cook disappeared in the kitchen to return with a double barreled
sawed-off shotgun.
“Fill ’em up with nails,” he chuckled. “Hit someone and phooey!”
“Phooey, is right,” grinned Slim. “I guess you’re safe enough from the
rustlers. Got any idea who’s causing all of the trouble?”
“Plenty ideas, no proof. Bad business to talk with loose tongue.”
“You’re right, Wu. A loose tongue can sure get a fellow into a lot of
trouble.”
Chuck stuck his head in the door.
“They want you at the ranch house as soon as you’re through.”
“I’ll be along in a minute.” Slim finished the last of the can of
peaches. “Great supper, Wu. Thanks a lot for saving it for me.”
“Okay,” grinned Wu, who had warmed to Slim’s praise of his cooking.
Slim found the owner of the Box B propped up in bed. Joe Haines was in a
chair nearby.
“Chuck’s told us about the rain,” said Adam Marks, his keen eyes
glinting beneath the bandage which swathed his head. “Anything else
happen?”
Slim recounted briefly his hard ride on the trail of the bushwhacker.
“The fellow was circling along the foothills and riding pretty hard. He
must have had an idea he would be trailed.”
“You’re darned right he did,” put in the range foreman. “We wouldn’t let
a shooting like that go without trying to get revenge.”
“Get any clues on the fellow’s identity?” asked Marks.
“I’ll recognize the marks of his horse’s shoes wherever I see them,”
replied Slim.
“Good boy. We’ve needed a couple of nervy riders like you and your
pardner. It gives me new courage. We’ll whip these rustlers to a
standstill.”
“I’d like to know how they ship the stock they rustle,” said Slim.
Joe Haines smiled grimly. “I’d like to know the same thing. I’ve got a
hunch, but you can’t prove anything on a hunch.”
“How do the other cattlemen in the valley stand?”
“They’re all suspicious since I started losing cattle. Claim they’re
being raided, too, but I doubt that. No one will work together. It’s
every man for himself.”
They discussed the situation for a time and then Slim went to the
bunkhouse. The other riders were in their bunks, apparently asleep, but
Chuck roused up and lifted his bulk on one elbow. He started to speak,
but Slim shook his head, undressed, turned out the light, and rolled
into the blankets. He was worn out by the hard ride on the trail and he
fell into a slumber that was broken only by the strident tones of Lee
Wu’s breakfast bell the next morning.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Slim found the bunkhouse deserted, but
the sound of running water and other noises informed him that his
companions were outside at the pump.
He slipped into his clothes and joined them.
“Chuck tells us the rain played you a dirty trick,” said Walt Kelly,
hitching his pants closer about his rotund waist.
“It didn’t help any,” admitted Slim.
“Learn anything that really gives you anything on the rustlers?” asked
Doug Huston. Slim looked into the watery eyes and thought he detected a
trace of uneasiness.
“Not a thing,” he replied. While the others headed for the cookhouse,
Slim hurried down to the corral. He was afraid the rain had washed the
dye off Lightning, but to his intense relief he found that the white
spots were still effectively covered.
There was little conversation at breakfast as the punchers downed the
stacks of cakes and gulped the breakfast food and coffee. When they
emerged from the cookhouse, Joe Haines was waiting for them.
“We’ve got two more riders,” he said, “and we’re going to try to cover
all of the main herds everyday.” Then he assigned the work and Slim
found that he was teamed with Doug Huston while Chuck was paired off
with Pat Beals. Joe and Walt would ride together while Lee Wu took his
faithful shotgun to the ranch house to stand guard there.
Slim found Doug to be a silent riding partner, but Doug knew the range
well and they worked west toward the foothills where he had ridden the
day before. The rain had freshened the grass overnight and Slim marveled
at the sleek, well fed condition of the Box B cattle. It was little
wonder rustlers would take extreme risks to get such stock as grazed on
the rolling acres of the Marks’ ranch.
They stopped at noon and ate the lunch Lee Wu had prepared, then started
the swing back toward the ranch. There had been no sign of any cattle
having been stolen and the herds were grazing calmly in the rich valleys
of the foothills.
They were near the north boundary of the ranch when Slim sighted a lone
rider and turned to Doug.
“That’s one of the Double O boys. Nels Anderson, their boss, keeps them
all riding our range line. Claims he’s lost cattle and doesn’t make any
bones about saying that he thinks they’re on our range. Matter of fact,
I guess he did find about forty head he’d lost over here.”
“Which doesn’t mean the Box B rustled them.”
“Well you try to tell that square-head that story. We’ve all talked
ourselves hoarse.”
The lone horseman waved as the Box B punchers passed a few hundred yards
away and they waved in return.
“That’s Al Bass. The Double O riders are all friendly enough, but they
have to do what old Nels tells them.”
They reached the ranch shortly before sundown and found the other riders
there ahead of them. There had been no sign of the rustlers anywhere on
the Box B and Joe Haines led his punchers to supper with a lighter
heart.
After supper Slim had a chance to talk with the foreman alone.
“How many head have you lost altogether?” he asked.
“I’d say around 500. That’s a rough guess, but we won’t know for sure
until the fall round-up.”
Slim whistled. “That’s a lot of cattle.”
“More than we can stand. Much more of it, and the Box B will be ready
for the auction block.”
A rider appeared on the trail from Dirty Water and they watched him
approach the ranch.
“I’d just as soon see a snake coming,” grunted the foreman as he
recognized the visitor as Hal Titzell, the cattle buyer.
Titzell dismounted easily and faced the foreman.
“Been around the valley a bit today,” he said, “and thought you might
have a little choice stuff to sell. I’ve got a special order from a
Chicago commission house. Top price for choice beef. What do you say?”
“Sorry Titzell, but you know we don’t do business with you.”
“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind. I heard your outfit was a
little pressed for cash.”
“You heard wrong.”
“Maybe I’d better talk with your boss,” said the cattle buyer, starting
toward the ranch house.
“Adam Marks is too sick to see you,” replied Joe, barring the way. “If I
were you, I’d start back for Dirty Water.”
“Very well,” replied Titzell, apparently unperturbed by the gruff
treatment accorded him, “but think it over. If you change your mind
about that choice stuff on your north range, let me know.”
The cattle buyer mounted and rode swiftly down the trail toward Dirty
Water.
“I hope his horse stumbles and Titzell breaks his neck,” snorted the
range boss.
One remark of the cattle buyer’s lodged in Slim’s memory. He had
especially mentioned the choice stock on the north range, which lay next
to the boundary of the Double O.
Slim was still feeling the fatigue of his two arduous days on the trail
of the bushwhacker and he rolled into his blankets early, followed
shortly by the other riders of the Box B.
Doug and Slim rode the same section of the range the next morning and it
was well after noon when they reached the boundary of the Double O. On
the previous day they had passed a bunch of steers grazing in a coulee a
mile below the boundary, but the cattle were nowhere in sight and Slim
and Doug spread out to hunt for them.
Slim followed their trail straight across the line into Double O
territory and he turned and rode back to join Doug.
“The cattle have gone into Double O range and it looks to me as though
they were driven there.”
“Then we’d better get back to the ranch and tell Joe.”
Slim gave Lightning her head and soon outdistanced Doug in the ride back
to the ranch. Fortunately Joe Haines had ridden in early and he told the
foreman what had happened on the north range.
“We’re going to have a showdown with Nels Anderson,” said Joe grimly.
“We’re going to get those cattle back even if we have to do it with
gunpowder!”
Chapter Fifteen
Dangerous Hours
“See that you’re well heeled,” admonished the fiery foreman of the Box B
as he hurried into the bunkhouse to strap on an extra revolver.
Slim made sure that his saddle was well cinched for they would be riding
fast and hard.
Just before they started, Walt Kelly and Chuck rode in from the south.
They were speedily informed that Box B cattle had been driven into
Double O territory and that the Box B was determined to have none of
that. They joined the raiding party with a whoop and all five riders set
out at full speed for the north range, leaving a startled Lee Wu to
guard the home place and his wounded boss.
“How many do you think were driven onto the Double O?” asked Joe as they
galloped northward.
“I’d say about forty head,” replied Slim, “and from what I saw of them
yesterday, they were all prime beef.”
“That’s just the kind of cattle we’ve been losing right along, prime
stuff that knocks the bottom out of our pocketbook. If this keeps on
much longer, we won’t have anything left to ship this fall. I never
figured old man Anderson would stoop to rustling our stuff, but it looks
like we have the goods on him.”
The little cavalcade whirled northward, a trail of dust mounting in its
wake and hanging in the still afternoon air.
They topped a slope and looked down on the Double O range. A little more
than a mile away they could see a few cattle grazing.
“Maybe that’s our stuff over there,” shouted Walt.
Joe shook his head. “They’d have driven them further into their own
range.”
They swung westward along the range line to the place where Doug and
Slim had picked off the tracks of the missing cattle.
Joe swung out of the saddle and scanned the hoofprints of the horses
which had driven the cattle into the Double O territory.
“Only three riders made the raid,” he grunted. “They had plenty of
nerve.”
Slim, looking down at the hoof prints could hardly suppress an
exclamation of surprise. There was a distinct V-shaped nick in the left
rear shoe of one of the horses! There had been a similar nick on the
same shoe of the horse which had carried the bushwhacker safely away
from the vengeance of the Box B.
Slim leaned down and spoke to Joe, and they moved out of earshot of the
others.
“Listen Joe, there was a V-shaped nick in the left rear shoe of the
horse I chased all over your west range. There’s the same kind of a nick
in one of the hoofprints here.”
“You mean the fellow who took a shot at the boss was one of the fellows
who rustled the cattle last night?”
“It looks that way.”
Joe’s honest eyes narrowed to steely slits and his lips tightened into a
grim line.
“The Double O had always been a tough outfit, but I never figured old
man Anderson would stand for murder. If we find one of their riders is
riding a horse with a shoe like that, watch out for trouble in great big
chunks.”
The Box B riders remounted and started north into the Double O
territory. From the trail, it was evident that the cattle had been
driven hard, but the small herd had been fairly easy to handle.
They penetrated more than a mile into the Double O range when a group of
riders galloped into sight over a low hill.
“Here comes trouble,” grinned Chuck, loosening his rifle and making sure
that it was ready for fast action. The other Box B riders looked at
their guns and Slim’s heart tightened. Tempers were at a fighting pitch.
It would require some real diplomacy to get through the next few minutes
without someone being hurt, perhaps seriously.
The two groups of riders swept toward each other at a furious pace,
slowing down only when they were less than two hundred yards apart. At a
hundred yards they stopped, eyeing each other warily, waiting for the
first break.
“Old man Anderson’s with his boys and he’s wearing two guns,” said Joe.
“That means he’s on the warpath sure.”
Slim counted the Double O riders. Five men were ranged behind their boss
and he recognized one of them as Al Bass, the range rider they had seen
the day before.
“They’ve got our cattle,” said Walt Kelly impatiently. “What are we
going to do, talk or shoot?”
“We’ll talk first,” said Joe, curbing his first impulse to shoot it out,
for the Box B was outnumbered.
Joe held up his hand and started forward, calling to Slim, “You ride
with me and the rest stay here and watch for any break.”