Toward them clattered two riders hotly pursuing a lean, long-legged steer with a wide spread of horns and a gift of speed that carried him forging past the disputants. Tom wheeled mechanically and gave chase, leaving the Douglas wrath to wax hotter or to cool if it would. It was a harsh accusation that Aleck Douglas had made, and that he 51 did make it seemed to prove that he had what he considered very good evidence that he was right. Tom was well schooled in troubles of that kind. He did not take the matter so indifferently as Douglas believed.
Duke and Mel Wilson, riding hard, came upon Tom just as he had roped and thrown the steer in a shallow draw that hid them from the level where Aleck Douglas waited.
“Hey!” Tom beckoned them close. “Old Douglas says there’s a hide in the willows this side of Squaw Butte, with the brand cut out; a spotted yearling, and he claims it’s his and he can swear to it without the brand. I don’t know a darn thing about it. Nobody does in this outfit; I’ll stake all I’ve got on that. But he’s on the fight––and a mule’s a sheep alongside him when he’s got his back up. He left the hide where he found it. Haze this steer and ride over there and see what there is to his talk. If you find a hide cachéd in the willows, put it outa sight. We don’t want any rustling scraps started on this range; that’s bad medicine always. If he can’t produce any hide, he can’t start anything but talk––and talk’s cheap.”
A few moments later they came tearing up out of the draw, the steer running strong, the three riders still hotly pursuing. Duke and Mel rushed it on to the herd, and Tom dropped out of the race and came along across to where Douglas wrath 52 had not cooled but had smoldered and waited for the wind of opposition to fan it to flame again.
“Well, you still mournin’ over your spotty yearlin’?” Tom called. “You must have more time than you know what to do with to-day. Us, we have to work.”
“If it’s to the round-up ye’re going, then I’ll ride wi’ ye, Tom Lorrigan. I’m a fair mon and I wush na ill to my neighbors. But I canna twiddle the thumbs whilst others fare well on Douglas beef.”
“You can ride where you please; it’s open range. But if you ride to the herd I’ll show you forty yearlings that I’ll bet are dead ringers for the one that you claim was killed. I never seen that hide neither, unless maybe when the critter was using it.
“Now, I don’t want any trouble with yuh, Scotty. But I tell yuh right now I can’t stand for much more of this talk about beef rustling. Thief’s a pretty hard word to use to a man’s face––and get away with it.”
“’Tis a hard mon I’m usin’ it tae,” the Douglas retorted grimly.
“Braggin’ about your nerve, are yuh, Scotty?”