“I’m sure there are at least fifty more gone from that bunch over on Devil’s Head,” said Alma. “The other ranchers around here are sure they are losing cattle, anywhere from ten to fifty head at a time, but they can’t seem to catch any one at it.”
Alma was soon to learn, however, that Swingley was not to be content with getting cattle by means of occasional raids.
The ranchmen throughout the county were served with notice that the newly organized Cattlemen’s Association, of which Swingley was ostensibly the head, intended to put in effect a series of district round-ups. All cattle were to be gathered and inspected, and unbranded cattle, or any livestock that carried suspicious-looking brands, were to become the property of the new organization.
No sooner were the notices served than the round-ups were organized, all manned by Association men. The cow-punchers, who had made up the invading army, which was now spoken of only in terms of hatred and contempt by the small ranchmen, were scattered about in small, but aggressive, delegations, with the different round-up wagons.
Swingley himself captained the round-up outfit that combed the Powderhorn Valley, from its wide reaches on the plains, to the final ranch in the foothills.
When the riders had gathered the cattle from the vicinity of her ranch Alma was dismayed at the smallness of her herd. Fully half of Nick Caldwell’s cattle had been spirited away. Swingley, as sole judge and dictator, when the inspection of brands was going on, threw at least half of the remaining cattle into the Association’s pool.
“It’s an outrage!” protested Alma. “There’s no question about the validity of all those brands you’ve claimed.”
“You don’t know nothin’ about the cattle game, young lady,” responded Swingley callously. “Every brand I’ve claimed was made with a runnin’ iron. Nick Caldwell’s title of the ‘king of the rustlers’ was well earned. And it’d be better for all who sympathized with him if they moved out of this country, without standin’ on ceremony,” added the rustler significantly. “We’re not through with ’em yet.”
The girl did not lose the general meaning of the threat, but at first she did not get its full import. A few weeks later she learned what Swingley had meant. Immediately after the completion of the Association round-ups, which resulted in many thousands of cattle being seized from small ranchers by the big cattle interests, there began a series of assassinations which soon had the entire countryside terrorized.
One ranchman after another, who had been identified with the opposition to the big cattlemen, was shot down by a mysterious rifleman. It was apparent that the work was done by one person, yet the shootings occurred at such divergent points of the compass that it seemed impossible that a single rider could cover so much ground in such a short space of time.