met halfway between.
The owner of the Double O was a gigantic Swede, well over six feet tall
and as broad as an ox. His huge hands rested easily on the pommel of his
saddle and the butts of his six guns protruded from the holsters on each
leg. The light blue eyes peered out from beneath shaggy eyebrows and his
whole face was a picture of intense rage. He burst into an immediate
accusation.
“You fellows got nerve,” he roared. “Stealing my cattle and then riding
over here in the daytime hunting more. By gar, this is going to stop and
stop right here!”
“What do you mean, stealing your cattle?” replied Joe angrily. “All
we’re doing is trailing a herd of our own stuff that you’ve driven into
your range. Fine thing for a man’s neighbor to turn rustler.”
The Swede’s face flushed an angry red and his right hand clawed at his
gun, but Al Bass reached out quickly and seized the hand with a firm
grip.
“Hold it, Nels,” he said. “There’s something wrong here. I saw Box B
cattle on our range better than a mile back. They’re hunting their stuff
on our territory and we’re looking for some of our choice beef on their
side of the line.”
It was with difficulty that the owner of the Double O controlled his
surging temper, and when he spoke his voice was filled with emotion.
“Don’t you call me a rustler again,” he warned Joe. “Next time maybe Al
won’t be here to stop me.”
“Sorry, Nels, but my temper got away from me. We’ve been losing cattle
right and left and this time we figured we’d trailed some of our prime
beef right into your back yard.”
“Yeh,” grunted Al Bass. “There’s a trail a quarter mile west of here
where about sixty head of our stuff was driven onto your range last
night. Laugh that one off.”
“Looks to me like a clever attempt to get the Box B and the Double O
into a lot of gun play and clean both outfits out while they were busy
trying to settle grievances,” said Slim.
He turned to Nels Anderson. Briefly he told him of the attempt to kill
Adam Marks and how he had trailed the bushwhacker, only to be beaten
back by the storm.
“The man who shot Adam Marks was riding a horse that had a V-shaped mark
on the left rear shoe,” said Slim. “We found the same mark left by one
of the horses used to drive our cattle onto your range last night.”
“So you figured that it was a Double O rider who tried to kill your
boss,” said Al Bass.
“That’s about the ticket,” said Joe.
Nels Anderson’s big frame shook with anger.
“Fools, fools,” he cried. “Why, Adam and I came here together. We don’t
always agree, but by gar I sure wouldn’t let anyone take a shot at him.”
Al Bass leaned forward.
“I was the fellow who found out our cattle had been rustled and I got a
good look at the hoofprints left by the rustlers’ horses. There’s just
such a mark as you described on one of the left rear prints.”
Slim smiled a little grimly.
“I’d kind of figured there would be. Seems like these two outfits ought
to forget any past troubles and realize that through a clever trick the
rustlers almost had them fighting each other to death. We figured one of
your boys tried to get our boss, and that your whole outfit was stealing
our cattle, while you fellows were dead sure we rustled off your beef
last night.”
Nels Anderson leaned over toward the Box B foreman, thrusting out a huge
hand.
“Joe, your boy is right. We have been blind. You tell Adam that from now
on we ride together. I’ll come see him soon. Now we better throw in
together. We’ll round up your stuff and drive it back on your range and
then bring our cattle back.”
They united forces and turned back into the Double O range to hunt out
the Box B cattle. Slim felt that real progress had been made. The
differences between the Double O and the Box B had been smoothed over
and the two largest outfits in the Creeping Shadows had united for a
stand against the rustlers. He looked over the cowpunchers. They were a
hard riding lot, every one of them capable of a good fight and Slim knew
that the rustlers were going to be in for some dangerous hours before
many more days passed.
Chapter Sixteen
Telltale Marks
It was sundown when the Double O and the Box B riders finished the task
of getting the cattle back on their own ranges. They stopped at the
boundary between the ranches and the Double O cattle plodded northward
onto their own range.
“How many cattle you figure you’ve lost?” Joe asked the owner of the
Double O.
“Right around 350,” replied Nels. “How many have you?”
“It’s more than that. A good 500 head and maybe a few more have been
stolen in the last few months. I tell you, it’s hit us mighty hard.”
Nel’s pale eyes hardened and his huge hands moved convulsively for he
was a man of deep emotion.
“We shall stop that, and soon,” he roared. “Tomorrow we go see Cook and
line him up. After that we’ll clean out Dirty Water and maybe that will
stop the rustling.”
Joe looked thoughtful.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to swing Cook along with us,” he said, “and
when it comes to cleaning up Dirty Water, we’ll have to have some
proof.”
“I’m tired of waiting,” said Nels. “Action I got to have. There’s no law
in the valley unless we make it ourselves.”
“You’re right,” agreed Slim, “but let’s wait until we’re sure of the
gang responsible for this rustling.”
Nels grumblingly agreed that Slim’s advice was logical and they parted
with the agreement that the Box B foreman would ride over to the Double
O in the morning and that Nels would accompany him on a visit to the
Cook ranch.
“What sort of a fellow is this Cook?”
“All bad,” replied Joe. “He runs the Diamond Dot, a small outfit that
lies east of the Double O and the Box B and north of Dirty Water. His
range backs right up against the Cajons. We’ve had lots of trouble with
him over our water rights.”
“Has he been losing cattle the last year?”
“Claims he’s lost a bunch, but I wouldn’t take his word for anything.
Unless we keep a close watch, he runs his cattle over on our range and
they clean up some of our best grazing land.”
“Then it won’t be much use to see him tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so, but it will satisfy Nels, and if Cook has really been
losing beef he may throw in with us. He has a lot of riders and they’re
all tough birds. If the three outfits made a united stand, we’d sweep
this valley clean of every undesirable hombre that’s come in here the
last couple of years.”
When they reached the home place, Joe went at once to report the events
of the day to the owner of the Box B while the cowboys hurried into the
cookhouse, where Lee Wu had supper ready.
“Golly, but I thought there was going to be trouble when Joe called Nels
Anderson a rustler,” said Walt Kelly, between mouthfuls of bread.
“There would have been if Al Bass hadn’t grabbed his hand,” put in
jovial Pat Beals. “I’m telling you, my hair was standing on end.”
“We’re finally getting started on the right track,” said Walt, “even if
it almost took bloodshed to get these outfits together. Believe me, it’s
going to be tough for the rustlers from now on.”
Slim had been watching Doug Huston and he thought he saw the cowboy’s
face twitch slightly. One thing, Doug had expressed no elation at the
peacemaking with the Double O.
There was only the faintest tinge of light over the Three Soldiers as
they left the cookhouse. Up at the ranch house, a light glowed in Adam
Marks’ bedroom and Slim knew that the foreman was recounting in great
detail the happenings of the day.
Slim walked down to the corral and whistled softly. Out of the shadows
came Lightning, and Slim climbed up to the top rail and ran his hands
through the sorrel’s thick mane.
“We made a little progress today,” he said softly and Lightning tossed
her head in agreement. “But we’ve got a long way to go,” added Slim, and
again the sorrel nodded.
Chuck came down from the bunkhouse and climbed atop the corral.
“Doing a little heavy thinking?” he asked.
“Trying to, but the results are about zero.”
“I’d like to know how the 800 and some head that have been stolen from
the Box B and the Double O were taken out of the valley,” said Chuck.
“When we discover how that’s been done, we’ll be just about at the end
of this mystery.”
“They’ve been rustled in small lots, but even then cattle can’t fly.”
“That’s one reason I’m anxious to see what kind of a place the Diamond
Dot runs. Joe Haines don’t like that outfit a bit.”
“He didn’t like the Double O until he realized that somebody was trying
to get the two outfits to fighting,” pointed out Chuck.
“There won’t be any more trouble along that line and I feel we’ve made a
little progress, but not enough.”
Slim’s fingers, exploring an inside pocket, came in contact with the
cartridge he had found at the scene of Adam Marks’ ambush. He had two
definite clues, the exploded shell and the V-shaped hoofprint. Somewhere
in the valley he must find the rider of that horse.
The cowboy detectives returned to the bunkhouse. The foreman was still
at the ranch house and the other Box B riders were engaged in various
personal tasks.
Slim and Chuck rolled in early, and a few minutes later the others were
in their blankets.
Slim fell into a restless sleep, for even after his body relaxed his
mind was working on the rustling mystery. Thus it was that he heard a
slight noise down at the corral and awakened almost instantly.
Slim pulled on his trousers, picked up his boots, and left the bunkhouse
silently. Someone was in the corral saddling a horse. Slim moved swiftly
forward. The moon, which had topped the Cajons, was shrouded with
clouds.
The cowboy detective paused beside the main gate of the corral to see
what was going on inside and had just stuck his head above the top rail
when a rope swished out of the shadows and settled over his head. Before
he could utter a sound, it was jerked tight and he fell sprawling to the
ground, gasping for breath.
Slim clawed at the rope, but it was too tight. Someone was running
toward him, coming out of the corral.
The moonlight brightened for an instant and Slim looked up into a masked
face.
“Smart guy,” came a hard, chilling voice. “Well, you’re not as smart as
you think you are.”
Slim tried to dodge, but the other man struck him with a short, heavy
club, and the cowboy detective lost consciousness. When he finally
opened his eyes, the moon was well toward its zenith and his head
throbbed dismally.
He tried to move, but found his arms and feet securely bound and a tight
gag in his aching mouth. He managed to roll over and lift his head. He
had been carried a hundred yards from the corral and deposited beside
the creek. Slim tried to wriggle along the ground, but he made little
progress and it was an exhausting effort. He rolled over on his back and
looked up at the moon. There was nothing to do but wait for morning.
It was well after midnight when Slim heard a horse approaching the Box
B. It was coming slowly as though the rider was afraid of discovery.
Then the gate of the corral was opened and Slim knew that his assailant
had returned. There was no question now but that one of the Box B riders
was allied with the rustlers for Slim felt sure that the unknown rider
had slipped away to inform the other members of the gang that the Box B
and the Double O were standing shoulder to shoulder to resist any
further depredations.
The aching hours went by slowly. The moon dropped behind the Three
Soldiers and for over an hour the Creeping Shadows country was cloaked
in the deepest night. Then the peaks of the Cajons were touched with the
first streaks of another day and Slim moved a little to rest his
tortured body.
It was an hour later before he was found and then Chuck saw him lying
beside the creek and hurried to slash his bonds.
Slim had to be helped to a sitting position, for the circulation had
long since stopped in his feet and hands. Chuck worked carefully,
rubbing the bruised members. Slim cried out in pain once or twice as the
blood again coursed through the arteries and veins. His tongue was badly
swollen and Chuck ran for a cup of water. Returning, he took a clean
handkerchief and soaked it with water. This Slim placed in his mouth,
sucking gratefully at the cool liquid.
Joe Haines heard that something was wrong and came hurrying down, the
other Box B riders following him. Slim waved aside their questions for
his jaws ached too much to talk and it was not until he had downed a
bowl of breakfast food that he told them the full story.
“Have any idea who it was?” asked Joe.
“Not the slightest,” replied Slim, deciding not to reveal that he had
heard the rider return to the Box B.
Walt Kelly hurried down to the corral to look at the horses.
“Every cayuse is there,” he said when he returned.
“Then I can’t figure out what anyone was doing in our corral,” said Joe.
“Maybe he was going to run off with the horses and Slim came along just
in time to give him a scare,” suggested Doug.
“Well, maybe,” agreed Joe, but it was plain that such an explanation did
not satisfy him.
When they left the cookhouse, Joe turned to Slim.
“Feel like riding over to the Double O with me?”
“I’ll be all right in a few minutes. Count me in. I want to be along
when you talk with the boss of the Diamond Dot.”
Slim went to the bunkhouse while the others hastened down to the corral
to get their mounts. The cowboy detective was firmly convinced that
someone in the bunkhouse had slugged him the night before and left him
hog-tied along the creek.
With quick, deft hands he searched one bunk after another. It was not
until he reached Doug Huston’s duffel bag that he found anything. Wadded
in the bottom was a black cloth which might easily be tied around the
lower part of the face to form a mask. Slim nodded grimly. His
suspicions that Doug was the rustlers’ key man on the ranch were rapidly
being confirmed.
Slim rammed the black cloth back into the duffel bag and slipped on his
chaps, slung his gun belt around his hips, and started for the corral.
An excited group was gathered at the gate, looking at tracks which led
into the corral.
“Look here, Slim,” cried Chuck. “One of the rustlers, the guy that took
a shot at the boss, rode right into our own corral last night. Here’s
his tracks going in, but there’s none coming out.”
Slim looked down at the hoofprint to which Chuck pointed. There was the
telltale V-shaped mark.
Chapter Seventeen
The Night Alarm
There was no mistaking the V-shaped nick. It was clearly outlined in the
dust and Slim stooped to look at it closely.
“Kind of looks like the mysterious rider was the guy who roped me around
the neck and then left me down by the creek to hear the crickets sing,”
he said.
“Maybe he was trying to get another shot at the boss,” said Walt Kelly.
“If he was, he wouldn’t have ridden right into our corral. Anyway,
there’re no marks like this one coming out,” Chuck pointed out.
Slim sat back on his heels, puzzled at the turn of events, while Chuck
ambled into the corral. A minute later he shouted for them to join him
and they hurried inside.
Chuck was looking at his own horse but as they approached he pointed at
the dust.
“My gosh, fellows, my own horse has that V-shaped mark on his left rear
shoe!”
“That kind of puts you in a hole,” spoke up Doug Huston.
“Nothing of the kind,” retorted Slim sharply. “Chuck wasn’t on the range
when the boss was shot and you fellows know darned well where he was the
other night when the rustlers were chasing our cattle onto the Double O
range. This is just a trick of the rustlers to cause suspicion in our
own outfit. The fellow who slugged me last night rode away on Chuck’s
horse and while he was away from the ranch he had the V-shaped mark
filed in the shoe. It was clever trick, but it didn’t work.”
Joe Haines, who had been strangely silent, stepped forward.
“You’re right, Slim,” said the foreman. “Putting that nick on the shoe
of that cayuse was aimed to throw us on the wrong track. What’s
troubling me is how the rustlers learned we were after a horse with a
shoe marked like that. As far as I know only our own outfit knew about
it and Nels Anderson and Al Bass.”
“I didn’t think the Double O would shoot straight,” said Doug.
“I wouldn’t jump at conclusions,” said Slim. “When this thing is finally
cleared up there’s going to be a lot of surprised people in the Creeping
Shadows country.”
“Oh, you talk like a cattle detective,” snapped Doug.
“If I was a cattle detective,” replied Slim smoothly, “I’d probably be
slipping the iron bracelets on these rustlers and starting them for the
state penitentiary.”
“Better get a file and smooth out that mark,” Joe told Chuck. “There’s
no use your cluttering up the landscape with V-shaped signs.”
Chuck departed for the blacksmith shop and Slim and Joe saddled and
mounted their horses.
Joe gave the riding orders for the day to the other punchers. Then with
Slim he rode north toward the Double O. After a time he spoke.
“Do you think it was someone on the ranch who waylaid you last night and
rode away on Chuck’s horse?”
Slim picked his words carefully as he replied for even though he had
absolute faith in the integrity of the foreman, he did not intend to
reveal that he was in the employ of the Mountain States Cattlemen’s
Association and working under Old Bill Needham until the showdown.
“I’m inclined to believe someone on the ranch is tipping the rustlers
off to every move. That’s the only way the gang could have learned the
boss was carrying money with him the night they shot him and it’s the
only way they could have learned about the nick in the horseshoe.
Whoever is doing the thinking for this gang is clever and dangerous.”
“He’s all of that, but he’ll never match the power of the cattlemen if
we line up Hack Cook.”
Nels Anderson and Al Bass were waiting for them and they swung into
their saddles as the Box B men approached.
“Anything happen last night?” asked Nels. Slim related what had occurred
at the Box B corral.
“That’s no good,” he said. “It means there’s a traitor in your outfit.”
“Don’t say that until we’ve got the proof,” Joe warned him, for although
he was privately convinced that Nels was right, he wasn’t going to let
any outsider cast any reflections on his riders until he had ample
proof.
With Nels and Joe ahead, they rode toward the Diamond Dot. Slim found Al
Bass a pleasant companion and they discussed the range war at length.
“Your outfit’s pretty well loaded with men,” Slim said.
“The Box B would be if they could keep their hands on,” grinned Al, “but
after those two cattle detectives were killed and a couple of the other
boys got winged, a bunch of them blew out of the country.”
“The present outfit won’t blow,” said Slim.
“I don’t know about that. I wouldn’t count too much on Doug Huston. He
looks like a weak sister to me.”
It was nearly noon when they reached the Diamond Dot, which lay north
and well to the east of the Box B although almost directly east of the
Double O.
Water on the Diamond Dot was not as plentiful as on the neighboring
ranches and the grass was thinner. The buildings, almost under the
Cajons, were in a poor state of repair and the corral was a ramshackled
affair. Two cowboys in front of the bunkhouse looked up as the riders
approached and four more men appeared to watch the visitors. On the
porch of the ranch house a man pulled himself out of an old rocking
chair. He was in his stocking feet and had been dozing and smoking his
pipe at intervals.
“That’s Hack Cook on the porch,” said Al. “He’s a tough customer and
I’ve got a hunch we won’t get any cooperation from him.”
Slim looked at the owner of the Diamond Dot. Hack Cook was almost
square. His shoulders were tremendously broad and his chest was like a
barrel. His face was red and his neck so short that it disappeared into
his body.
“Hello, Hack,” rumbled Nels as the riders stopped in front of the porch.
“Howdy,” replied Hack, but he gave no hint that he intended to ask them
to dismount and have dinner at the ranch. “What’s on your mind?”
“Plenty,” said Nels. “It’s about the rustlers. The Double O and the Box
B are joining forces.”
Hack’s face reddened and his voice trembled. “Joining forces? It’s about
time you big outfits did that. Now you’ll try to ruin me altogether. You
haven’t been able to do it singly so you’re doubling up on me. Well, I’m
serving notice on you right now that I’ve got fighting men on my payroll
and we’re going to fight to the end.”
“Why you crazy fool,” broke in Joe Haines, “we’re not looking for
trouble. We’re offering you a chance to join us and run the rustlers out
of the valley. You claim you’ve been losing stock. Here’s your chance to
prove it by throwing in with us. We’re going to give this valley the
once-over with a fine-toothed comb.”
Slim had been making a survey of the Diamond Dot layout. He was
surprised at the number of cowboys at the bunkhouse. There were six
outside, more than the Box B carried and as many as the Double O, which
were much larger ranches than the Diamond Dot.
There was the movement of a faded curtain at a window on the second
floor of the ranch house and Slim started involuntarily as he got a
glimpse of the face peering out from behind the curtain. It was that of
Hal Titzell, the cattle buyer from Dirty Water. It was true that Titzell
had visited the Box B two days before, and it was possible that he was
trying to buy cattle from the Diamond Dot, but Slim didn’t like the
looks of the thing as he recalled the early warning Doc Baldridge had
given him about Titzell.
Nels and Joe argued for some time with Hack Cook, but the owner of the
Diamond Dot was adamant and no amount of cajoling on the part of the
visiting cattlemen could make him change his mind.
“Then go it alone,” exploded Nels at last, “and I hope to heaven you
lose every one of your cattle, that your grass burns up and your water
holes go dry.”
“They probably will if you can do anything about it,” retorted Hack.
The visitors whirled their horses about and departed at a gallop.
“What burns me up is that he didn’t ask us to eat,” grumbled Al Bass.
“Our cook quit last night and one of the boys had to rustle grub this
morning. We fed light.”
Slim could sympathize with Al, for even though he had enjoyed one of Lee
Wu’s good breakfasts, he was hungry. When they reached the Double O, the
Box B riders paused only long enough to water their horses, before
pressing on toward the home ranch.
Nels and Joe had decided on night riding and Slim knew that there would
be little rest for him until after the dawn of another day. When they
returned to the ranch, Joe explained the new plan of action.
“We’re splitting up the range,” he said. “Most of the stuff has been
stolen along our north and east line and along the south and east line
of the Double O. We’ll load up a chuck wagon at once and start for our
north line where we’ll make camp. Get a move on, boys, and help Lee Wu
get ready. The Double O’s lost their cook and Lee’s got to cook for both
outfits.”
It was just before sunset when a team was hitched to the chuck wagon and
Wu, his shotgun over his knees, cracked the whip, yelled a wild Chinese
chant, and the team leaped away to the accompaniment of many crashing
pots and pans.
Walt Kelly, in spite of his protests, was left at the ranch to guard the
boss and to feed and care for him while the others trailed out behind
the fast-wheeling Wu.
It was deep twilight when they reached the site which had been selected
for the camp. There was a good spring and plenty of timber. The Double O
boys were waiting and they greeted Wu with wild shouts of joy for the
Chinaman’s reputation as a cook was known the length and breadth of the
valley.
It was well after dark before supper was ready and they fell to with
ravenous appetites. The Double O riders were loud in their praises of
Wu’s cooking and the grinning Chinaman served them again and again until
he finally spread his hands and said, “All gone, too much hungry.”
They grinned and leaned back on the ground, waiting for orders from Nels
and Joe. Slim looked them over. In addition to the Double O boss and Al
Bass, there were five riders from that ranch. All of them were clean,
capable-appearing fellows. In the Box B contingent were Joe, Doug, Pat
Beals, Chuck and himself. With Wu to guard the camp, that meant twelve
riders were available for riding the range.
Nels, by virtue of his years, took command and assigned each rider to
his night’s work. Three shots, fired in rapid succession, were to be the
signal that trouble was ahead.
“This is a finish fight,” Nels warned them. “The word’s gone out that we
mean business. Shoot first and ask questions afterward.”