"Don't move, only as I tell you, an' slow," said Johnny's clear, low voice. "I got you just th' way I want you—ambushin'! Don't touch that gun, an' don't make no noise. First, put yore hands up even with yore armpits, palms down, on th' ground. Now inch back, away from that gun. Keep on—more—more—all right—stop! Slide 'em forward, straight out ahead of you, an' then lay still. You can admire Fannin's front door, an' imagine me in it, careless an' easy prey for a pot-shooter, if it'll do you any good. Don't look around till I tell you to, an' don't make a sound, blast you!"
Not being able to do anything else, Big Tom obeyed and soon felt his Colt leave its holster. A hand felt up under his coat, to see if the back-strap of his trousers held a gun. Being right-handed, the foreman would hardly choose to carry a six-gun there under ordinary circumstances, but this situation was not in that category. The back-strap was guiltless.
"Roll over on yore back," came the next command, and when it had been obeyed the same inquiring hand passed lightly and quickly over waist-band and shirt bosom, the left hand holding a six-gun now instead of the rifle. "All right, wiggle down in that gully, and then head for where you left yore cayuse, keepin' low down, like yore nature, an' out of sight of town."
"What do you think yo're doin'?" wrathfully inquired Big Tom, but obeying as he protested.
"Huntin' for an excuse to blow you apart, you ambushin' dog," came the metallic reply. "Shut yore mouth, an' keep on goin'. I'll give you a chance to talk later. Any harm that comes to you will be of yore own makin'. Keep on!"
They reached the brush at the edge of the trail, waited a moment, and then crossed swiftly, and when they stopped again it was at Pepper's side. Johnny quickly mounted and urged his captive on again. Coming to a picketed Bar H horse he ordered the foreman to mount it, and as the helpless man obeyed Johnny revealed their objective.
"Head for yore ranchhouse," he said. "Ride on my right side, yore stirrup even with my pommel, where my Colt will have a fair view of you from under my coat. If we meet anybody, pass 'em on yore side, an' don't make no remarks that ain't needed. We go at a lope; hit it up!"
And so they rode, except at a few places in the canyon, where the narrowness of the twisting trail made Big Tom go ahead. Arriving at the ranchhouse they rode around on its further side, tied the horses to a stake, and went indoors.
"Sit down," commanded Johnny, indicating a chair in the middle of the room. "Here, look at this," and he handed the foreman a piece of paper which was covered with sprawled figures. "I don't know what Fraser forgot, or what he got tangled up, so I'll go over it again. Them top figgers are based on th' tally sheets of th' SV in th' fall of th' year that Arnold took possession. They ain't like th' figgers Ol' Simon could 'a' showed, for th' ranch had been on th' slide for some years, an' plenty of its cows went on th' drive trail to give money to th' heirs. Th' lowest figgers are based on th' tally Cimarron finished yesterday. Natural increase, figgered as one to five, shows what they ought to be, minus them that Arnold had to sell to get grub. It's all there."
"Th' h—l with 'em!" blazed the foreman, crushing the sheet in his hand and hurling it from him. "What do I care about any figgers belongin' to th' SV? Take yore figgers an' get out—I'm advisin' you to leave this part of th' country, an' cussed quick. I ain't playin' godfather to th' SV, an' I'm runnin' this ranch without no help from you, Sherwood, or anybody else."