"Shore; we wasn't so far from th' Musselshell. They're on th' trail all th' time. An' they ain't loved a whole lot, neither. Th' northern punchers try to keep their herds from grazin' too close to th' trails. They're plumb scared about Texas fever. Sometimes a trail herd will pick up quite a lot of local cattle, an' when they're cut out they're mostly held on a range by themselves over a winter, until th' danger is reckoned to be past. You can't blame 'em, for th' fever raises th' very devil in northern herds. I know what I'm talkin' about, because some fever cattle was throwed over on th' Tin-Cup by some two-laigged skunks, an' we had one busy time, I'll admit. It went through our cattle like fire through dead grass; an' if it hadn't been for an Englishman, with plenty of brains in his decivin' head, it would 'a' been good-by Tin-Cup. It was a squeak for us. How's everythin' with you fellers?"
"Our troubles are periodics," replied Slim. "We'll have a long stretch of peace an' quiet, an' then things will happen in bunches, an' keep us crow-hoppin' all over th' range. We got our southeast section tamed, but our west section boils over every once in a while. Even when it ain't boilin', or even simmerin', we have got to watch it close. An' it's generally on th' simmer. If you go broke a-visitin' us, which I hopes you do, you can earn quite some cash. All you got to do is to go over in th' Snake Buttes country, just west of us, an' get Nevada for us. We'll pay five hundred dollars for his body, an' a hundred apiece for each of his men. I've heard tell about th' Hole in th' Wall, up north, but I reckon we've got its first cousin down here, right next door to us. We have to keep four men on our west section day an' night. Don't you never ride out there for fun—we shoots first, an' then finds out who it was."
"Nevada!" mused Johnny, "who is he?"
"Some say he's white, others, a half-breed," answered Slim. "Nobody I ever met knew anythin' about him, except that he come from Nevada. While I never saw him, I shore heard an' felt his lead one night; an' if he can shoot that good in th' dark, by ear, I ain't honin' to meet him for fun an' excitement in th' daytime when he can use his eyes. He skinned my ear, put one through my arm, another cut my shoulder, one went through my hat, th' fourth grazed my side, an' th' fifth killed my cayuse. It sounded like a loud r-i-i-i-p! Since then I don't make no noise at night out there. I imitates a ghost when I move around, an' I'm on full cock, with a hair trigger, every minute, which is some strain."
"How'd it happen?" asked Johnny.
"We was roundin' up last fall, an' had a beef herd we was holdin'. Th' night come on windy an' rainy, but there wasn't no lightnin' or thunder. Four of us was ridin' th' middle trick an' singin' plenty as we went around. Th' herd had fed heavy an' was well watered, an' tired, an' we wasn't worryin' much about it. Just after midnight we heard a rumble from behind us, an' th' whole herd was on its feet like one cow. It was a small bunch of stampeded cattle, an' when it hit our herd everythin' went that had hoofs. Th' cook, back in th' waggin', was awake because of a leak over his bed-roll, an' as soon as he heard th' rumble he let out a yell an' woke up th' off-shifts. They had their cayuses tied to th' waggin, or staked out close at hand, an' they forked 'em quick. Tom Wilkes saw my six-gun flashes an' he joins me. We lean against one end of th' front rank of our bunch, tryin' to turn 'em, an' get 'em to mill; but it wasn't no use. Th' herd had split up into bunches, an' our bunch run for half an hour southwest. When we finally got 'em millin', an' then busted that up, they figgered they had all th' runnin' they wanted an' behaved themselves. I rode back to take th' rear when I heard what sounded like another bunch runnin' west, quite a ways north of us. I sung out to Tom that I'd be back, an' streaked up to give a hand with th' other herd. When I got to it I rode right up front an' sung out that I was givin' a hand. My mouth wasn't hardly shut before I got in th' way of that stream of lead I told you about I got my gun workin', but I was afoot an' had to hear th' herd leave me behind. Managin' to get my saddle off, I hoofed it for th' cook's fire, which was blazin' high when I got to where I could see it. By th' time I got there th' rain was comin' down in sheets, an' I was done up. They got away with over forty head, as near as we could figger it, an' th' rain had smoothed them sandy valleys over in th' Buttes so they didn't show a print. We wouldn't 'a' follered far, anyhow—Nevada likes ambushes, an' that country was made for 'em."
"I've been through it," growled Johnny. "There's th' fourth muley I've seen in ten minutes," he said, nodding to the right.
"He was made a muley by a saw," replied Slim. "That feller was a bloody-minded terror. He's cost this ranch a dozen times what he was ever worth. We don't know what was th' matter with him—just born savage, I reckon. He killed an' ruined a lot of young steers before we got onto him. At first we was goin' to kill him; then we said he had been so all-fired mean that he ought to be punished. So we sawed off his horns an' turned him loose to play with th' rest of th' long-horns. He got some good lickin's before he learned that he wasn't dangerous no more. He got mauled so much before he quit his mean ways that we sort of felt sorry for him. Here comes Quantrell. He's our segundo, an' boss of our trail outfit. Good man, all around. Hey! Look at that old reprobate go for him! What do you think of that? Cimarron was th' man who sawed off his horns, an' cussed if he don't remember it!"
The approaching rider evaded the charge, fired close to the steer's nose as the animal went past, which turned its chain of thought, and rode up laughing.