shot at. Who's back of this?"
Red grunted, accepting the hot black coffee Hopalong handed him. "Hombre name of Jack Bolt. Has him a brand called the 8 Boxed H."
"That brand don't fool anybody," Hopalong agreed. "Anybody who could handle a running iron could change that over from a 3TL."
"It ain't that simple," Red said. "Nobody has ever killed one of those 8 Boxed H critters to get a look at the inside of the brand, and the job is done so slick I don't see how anybody could burn it with a runnin' iron. I mean, that work is smooth!"
"But they are stealin?
"Surest thing you know. I spotted a blaze-shouldered steer in their drive and braced 'em about it. They laughed at me and said I was wrong. Then they took me over their range and showed me their tally books, and if they've any extra stock on their range, I sure couldn't find it!"
"So you kept watch?"
"Naturally. I hid out in the hills and watched one big herd. Never saw 'em change a brand or move a head of stock. Then one mornin' as I was about to pull out I saw that herd was a whole durned sight smaller than it had been.
"I hunted around in the hills and couldn't find hide nor hair of 'em, not anywhere. I knowed some of that stock had disappeared, but couldn't see where she'd gone. I hunted around, but all the Bolt hands were on the job.
"Few days later I stumbled on a bunch of tracks 'way back in the hills and started following 'em. Then's when they closed in on me."
"What about Gibson? What's he doing all this time? Sitting on his reservation?"
"Nope. He's laid up with a busted leg. His horse throwed him. Him bein' short-handed like he was, I stayed on and stumbled into this. We'd had a talk, and he told me he was losin' stock, that if it didn't get stopped he'd be cleaned out before he could get back on his feet."
"Where were those cattle headed? You see 'em?"
"Nope. Just the trail. My guess is they are the same cows that slipped out from under my nose while I was watchin' from the hill. But swear to it? I couldn't."
Hopalong nodded thoughtfully. Evidently Red had stumbled upon something hot or there would never have been an attempt to kill him. Did they believe he had trailed them all the
way? Was that the reason they were so worried? Or was it because this was the first time anyone was in danger of getting evidence that might lead to conviction?
Hopalong roamed the little valley ceaselessly, worried and restless. Red was in no shape to travel, but they should be moving. If this Jack Bolt had as good a thing here as Red believed, he would not risk the possibility of leaving Red alive. The manhunt would continue until he had been found and killed. In that case, sooner or later they would find this place, and then it would be only a matter of a few hours until they were bottled up tighter than a drum.
He placed several runway snares and within an hour had two rabbits and a sage hen. Returning with these, Hopalong found some silverweed growing along the banks of the stream and gathered some of the roots for roasting. Back at camp, he took time to prepare a good meal from these and some of the supplies he had brought along. When Red awakened again he was hungry. Hopalong looked at him with a sour expression. "I'd sooner buy your clothes than feed you," he said. "You eat like you never expected to again!"
"Mebbe I don't." Red was feeling good and refused battle, even with such a time-honored opponent as Hopalong. "This here Bolt hombre is a tough feller." He looked up suddenly. "You seen Mesquite?"
"Seen him? How could I? He ain't around here, is he?"
"You know wherever you are, he ain't far away. That lad sets a sight o' store by you, Hoppy. Reckon he'll show up?"
Hopalong chuckled and grinned at Red. "Not unless he figures there's trouble over here, but if he gets wind of a scrap, he'll come a-floggin' it. You know him."
As darkness drew nearer, Hopalong became increasingly restless. Red's fever was mounting and there were times when
he lapsed into
Red grunted, accepting the hot black coffee Hopalong handed him. "Hombre name of Jack Bolt. Has him a brand called the 8 Boxed H."
"That brand don't fool anybody," Hopalong agreed. "Anybody who could handle a running iron could change that over from a 3TL."
"It ain't that simple," Red said. "Nobody has ever killed one of those 8 Boxed H critters to get a look at the inside of the brand, and the job is done so slick I don't see how anybody could burn it with a runnin' iron. I mean, that work is smooth!"
"But they are stealin?
"Surest thing you know. I spotted a blaze-shouldered steer in their drive and braced 'em about it. They laughed at me and said I was wrong. Then they took me over their range and showed me their tally books, and if they've any extra stock on their range, I sure couldn't find it!"
"So you kept watch?"
"Naturally. I hid out in the hills and watched one big herd. Never saw 'em change a brand or move a head of stock. Then one mornin' as I was about to pull out I saw that herd was a whole durned sight smaller than it had been.
"I hunted around in the hills and couldn't find hide nor hair of 'em, not anywhere. I knowed some of that stock had disappeared, but couldn't see where she'd gone. I hunted around, but all the Bolt hands were on the job.
"Few days later I stumbled on a bunch of tracks 'way back in the hills and started following 'em. Then's when they closed in on me."
"What about Gibson? What's he doing all this time? Sitting on his reservation?"
"Nope. He's laid up with a busted leg. His horse throwed him. Him bein' short-handed like he was, I stayed on and stumbled into this. We'd had a talk, and he told me he was losin' stock, that if it didn't get stopped he'd be cleaned out before he could get back on his feet."
"Where were those cattle headed? You see 'em?"
"Nope. Just the trail. My guess is they are the same cows that slipped out from under my nose while I was watchin' from the hill. But swear to it? I couldn't."
Hopalong nodded thoughtfully. Evidently Red had stumbled upon something hot or there would never have been an attempt to kill him. Did they believe he had trailed them all the
way? Was that the reason they were so worried? Or was it because this was the first time anyone was in danger of getting evidence that might lead to conviction?
Hopalong roamed the little valley ceaselessly, worried and restless. Red was in no shape to travel, but they should be moving. If this Jack Bolt had as good a thing here as Red believed, he would not risk the possibility of leaving Red alive. The manhunt would continue until he had been found and killed. In that case, sooner or later they would find this place, and then it would be only a matter of a few hours until they were bottled up tighter than a drum.
He placed several runway snares and within an hour had two rabbits and a sage hen. Returning with these, Hopalong found some silverweed growing along the banks of the stream and gathered some of the roots for roasting. Back at camp, he took time to prepare a good meal from these and some of the supplies he had brought along. When Red awakened again he was hungry. Hopalong looked at him with a sour expression. "I'd sooner buy your clothes than feed you," he said. "You eat like you never expected to again!"
"Mebbe I don't." Red was feeling good and refused battle, even with such a time-honored opponent as Hopalong. "This here Bolt hombre is a tough feller." He looked up suddenly. "You seen Mesquite?"
"Seen him? How could I? He ain't around here, is he?"
"You know wherever you are, he ain't far away. That lad sets a sight o' store by you, Hoppy. Reckon he'll show up?"
Hopalong chuckled and grinned at Red. "Not unless he figures there's trouble over here, but if he gets wind of a scrap, he'll come a-floggin' it. You know him."
As darkness drew nearer, Hopalong became increasingly restless. Red's fever was mounting and there were times when
he lapsed into
Similar Books
Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery
Elizabeth J. Duncan
Vulgar the Viking and the Rock Cake Raiders
Odin Redbeard
Breathless
Anne Stuart
Champions of the Apocalypse
Michael G. Thomas
Virtually Real
D. S. Whitfield
Carolina's Walking Tour
Lesley-Anne McLeod
Revolutionaries
Eric J. Hobsbawm
The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3
Alexie Aaron