CHAPTER IV
THE SKINNED CATTLE
"This is a devil of a time to haul a man out o' bed," complained Mr.Saltoun, stuffing the tail of his nightshirt into his trousers. "C'monin the office," he added, grumpily.
Mr. Saltoun, while Loudon talked, never took his eyes from thepuncher's face. Incredulity and anger warred in his expression.
"What do you reckon?" the owner inquired in a low tone, when Loudonfell silent.
"Why, it's plain enough," said Loudon, impatiently. "The rustlers werenight-drivin' them cows when one of 'em busted her leg. So they shother, an' the calf got away an' come back after the rustlers had goneon. They must 'a' been night-drivin', 'cause if it had been daytimethey'd 'a' rounded up the calf. Night-drivin' shows they were in ahurry to put a heap o' range between themselves an' the Bar S. Theywere headin' straight for the Fallin' Horse an' the Three Sisters."
"I see all that. I'm still askin' what do you reckon?"
"Meanin'?"
"Who-all's doin' it?"
"I ain't changed my opinion any. If the rustlers don't ride for the88, then they're related mighty close."
"You can't prove it," denied Mr. Saltoun.
"I know I can't. But it stands to reason that two or three rustlersworkin' for themselves wouldn't drift cows west--right across the 88range. They'd drift 'em north toward Farewell, or south toward theFryin' Pans. Findin' that cow an' calf on the 88 range is pretty nearas strong as findin' a man ridin' off on yore hoss."
"Pretty near ain't quite."
"I ain't sayin' anythin' more."
"You've got a grudge against the 88, Tom. Just because a left-handedsport on a sorrel cuts down on yuh it don't follow that Blakely is thesport. Yuh hadn't ought to think so, Tom. Why, Blakely stayed herethe night before yuh started for Pack-saddle. He didn't leave tilleight o'clock in the mornin', an' then he headed for the 88. It ain'tlikely he'd slope over to the creek an' shoot you up. Why, that'splumb foolish, Tom. Blakely's white, an' he's a friend o' mine."
Mr. Saltoun gazed distressedly at Loudon. The puncher stared straightbefore him, his expression wooden. He had said all that he intended tosay.
"Well, Tom," continued the owner, "I don't enjoy losin' cows any morethan the next feller. We've got to stop this rustlin' somehow. In themornin' I'll ride over with yuh an' have a look at that cow. TellChuck Morgan I want him to come along. Now you get some sleep, an'forget about the 88. They ain't in on this deal, take my word for it."
It was a silent trio that departed in the pale light of the new day.Chuck Morgan endeavoured to draw Loudon into conversation but gave itup after the first attempt. The heavy silence remained unbroken tillthey reached the mouth of the wide draw beyond Little Bear Mountain.
"There's a hoss," said Loudon, suddenly.
A quarter of a mile away grazed a saddled pony. Loudon gallopedforward.
The animal made no attempt to escape. It stood quietly while Loudonrode up and gathered in the reins dragging between its feet. The full_cantenas_ were in place. The quirt hung on the horn. The rope hadnot been unstrapped. The slicker was tied behind the cantle. Underthe left fender the Winchester was in its scabbard. All on the saddlewas as it should be.
"Whose hoss?" inquired Mr. Saltoun, who had followed more slowly.
"Ramsay's," replied the laconic Loudon, and started up the draw at alope, leading the riderless pony.
Loudon's eyes searched the ground ahead and on both sides. Heinstinctively felt that some ill had befallen Johnny Ramsay. Hisintuition was not at fault.
When the three had ridden nearly to the head of the draw, where thetrees grew thickly, Loudon saw, at the base of a leaning pine, thecrumpled body of Johnny Ramsay.
Loudon dropped from the saddle and ran to his friend. Ramsay lay onhis back, his left arm across his chest, his right arm extended,fingers gripping the butt of his six-shooter. His face and neck andleft arm were red with blood. His appearance was sufficiently ghastlyand death-like, but his flesh was warm.
Respiration was imperceptible, however, and Loudon tore open Ramsay'sshirt and pressed his ear above the heart. It was beating, but thebeat was pitifully slow and faint.
Loudon set to work. Chuck Morgan was despatched to find water, and Mr.Saltoun found himself taking and obeying orders from one of his owncowpunchers.
An hour later Ramsay, his wounds washed and bandaged, began to mutter,but his words were unintelligible. Within, half an hour he was ravingin delirium. Chuck Morgan had departed, bound for the Bar S, andLoudon and Mr. Saltoun sat back on their heels and watched theirmoaning patient.
"It's a whipsaw whether he'll pull through or not," remarked thebromidic Mr. Saltoun.
"He's got to pull through," declared Loudon, grimly. "He ain't goin'to die. Don't think it for a minute."
"I dunno. He's got three holes in him."
"Two. Neck an' arm, an' the bone ain't touched. That graze on thehead ain't nothin'. It looks bad, but it only scraped the skin. Hisneck's the worst. A half inch over an' he'd 'a' bled to death. Yuhcan't rub out Johnny so easy. There's a heap o' life in him."
"His heart's goin' better now," said Mr. Saltoun.
Loudon nodded, his gray eyes fixed on the bandaged head of his friend.Conversation languished, and Mr. Saltoun began to roll and smokecigarettes. After a time Loudon rose.
"He'll do till the wagon comes," he said. "Let's go over an' take asquint at that cow."
Loudon led Mr. Saltoun to the spot where lay the dead cow. When thepuncher came in sight of the dead animal he halted abruptly andobserved that he would be damned.
Mr. Saltoun whistled. The cow had been thoroughly skinned. Beside thecow lay the calf, shot through the head. And from the little bodyevery vestige of hide had been stripped.
"I guess that settles the cat-hop," said Mr. Saltoun, and begancomprehensively to curse all rustlers and their works.
It was not the skinning that disturbed Mr. Saltoun. It was the sightof his defunct property. The fact that he was losing cows had struckhome at last. Inform a man that he is losing property, and he may ormay not become concerned, but show him that same property renderedvalueless, and he will become very much concerned. Ocular proof is awonderful galvanizer. Yet, in the case of Mr. Saltoun, it was notquite wonderful enough.
"Oh, they're slick!" exclaimed Loudon, bitterly. "They don't forgetnothin'! No wonder Blakely's a manager!"
Mr. Saltoun ceased swearing abruptly.
"Yo're wrong, Tom," he reproved. "The 88's got nothin' to do with it.I know they ain't, an' that's enough. I'm the loser, not you, an' I'mthe one to do the howlin'. An' I don't want to hear any more about the88 or Blakely."
Loudon turned his back on Mr. Saltoun and returned to the wounded man.The cowboy yearned to take his employer by the collar and kick him intoa reasonable frame of mind. Such blindness was maddening.
Mr. Saltoun heaped fuel on the fire of Loudon's anger by remarking thatthe rustlers undoubtedly hailed from the Frying-Pan Mountains. Loudon,writhing internally, was on the point of relieving his pent-up feelingswhen his eye glimpsed a horseman on the high ground above the draw.The puncher reached for his Winchester, but he laid the rifle down whenthe rider changed direction and came toward them.
"Block, ain't it?" inquired Mr. Saltoun.
Loudon nodded. His eyes narrowed to slits, his lips set in a straightline. The sheriff rode up and halted, his little eyes shifting fromside to side. He spoke to Mr. Saltoun, nodded to Loudon, and thenstared at the wounded man.
"Got a rustler, I see," he observed dryly, his lips crinkled in asneering smile.
"Yuh see wrong--as usual," said Loudon. "Some friend o' yores shotJohnny."
"Friend o' mine? Who?" queried the sheriff, his manner one of mildinterest.
"Wish I knew. Thought yuh might be able to tell me. Ain't that whatyuh come here for?"
"Ramsay's shot--that's all we know," interposed Mr. Saltoun, hastily."An' there's a cow an'
calf o' mine over yonder. Skinned, both of 'em."
"An' the cow had been branded through a wet blanket," said Loudon, notto be fobbed off. "The Bar S was underneath an' the 88 was on top.Johnny an' me found the dead cow an' the live calf yesterday. I leftJohnny here an' rode in to the Bar S. When we got here we found Johnnyshot an' the cow an' calf skinned. What do you guess?"
"I don't guess nothin'," replied the sheriff. "But it shore looks asif rustlers had been mighty busy."
"Don't it?" said Loudon with huge sarcasm. "I guess, now----"
"Say, look here, Sheriff," interrupted Mr. Saltoun, anxious to preservepeace, "I ain't makin' no charges against anybody. But this rustlin'has got to stop. I can't afford to lose any more cows. Do somethin'.Yo're sheriff."
"Do somethin'!" exclaimed the Sheriff. "Well, I like that! What can Ido? I can't be in forty places at once. Yuh talk like I knowed justwhere the rustlers hang out."
"Yuh probably do," said Loudon, eyes watchful, his right hand ready.
"Keep out of this, Tom," ordered Mr. Saltoun, turning on Loudon withsharp authority. "I'll say what's to be said."
"Show me the rustlers," said the sheriff, electing to disregardLoudon's outburst. "Show me the rustlers, an' I'll do the rest."
At which remark the seething Loudon could control himself no longer.
"You'll do the rest!" he rapped out in a harsh and grating voice. "Iguess yuh will! If yuh was worth a ---- yuh'd get 'em without bein'shown! How much do they pay yuh for leavin' 'em alone?"
The sheriff did not remove his hands from the saddle-horn. For Loudonhad jerked out his six-shooter, and the long barrel was in line withthe third button of the officer's shirt.
"Yuh got the drop," grunted the sheriff, his little eyes venomous, "an'I ain't goin' up agin a sure thing."
"You can gamble yuh ain't. I'd shore admire to blow yuh apart. Yougit, an' git now."
The sheriff hesitated. Loudon's finger dragged on the trigger. Slowlythe sheriff picked up his reins, wheeled his horse, and loped away.
"What did yuh do that for?" demanded Mr. Saltoun, disturbed and angry.
Loudon, his eye-corners puckered, stared at the owner of the Bar S.The cowboy's gaze was curious, speculative, and it greatly lackedrespect. Instead of replying to Mr. Saltoun's question, Loudonsheathed his six-shooter, squatted down on his heels and began to rolla cigarette.
"I asked yuh what yuh did that for?" reiterated blundering Mr. Saltoun.
Again Loudon favoured his employer with that curious and speculativestare.
"I'll tell yuh," Loudon said, gently. "I talked to Block because it'sabout time someone did. He's in with the rustlers--Blakely an' thatbunch. If you wasn't blinder'n a flock of bats you'd see it, too."
"You can't talk to me this way!" cried the furious Mr. Saltoun.
"I'm doin' it," observed Loudon, placidly.
"Yo're fired!"
"Not by a jugful I ain't. I quit ten minutes ago."
"You----" began Mr. Saltoun.
"Don't," advised Loudon, his lips parting in a mirthless smile.
Mr. Saltoun didn't. He withdrew to a little distance and sat down.After a time he took out his pocket-knife and began to playmumblety-peg. Mr. Saltoun's emotions had been violently churned. Herequired time to readjust himself. But with his customary stubbornnesshe held to the belief that Blakely and the 88 were innocent ofevil-doing.
Until Chuck Morgan and the wagon arrived early in the morning, Loudonand his former employer did not exchange a word.
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