At its conclusion Logan grunted. "You got nerve an' patience; an' mebby you got brains. If you can keep 'em from bein' shot out of yore head, you have. An' you say they ain't usin' Little Canyon? I know they ain't usin' it now; but was they?"
"Not since th' frost come out of th' ground," replied Johnny. "I can't tell you about what they are doin' because I'm just beginnin' to get close to 'em. Th' next time you see me I may know somethin'. Now you listen to me," and he gave the foreman certain instructions, which Logan repeated over after him. "Now, then: I want about sixty feet of rope strong enough to hold me, an' I want a short, straight iron."
"Come with me," ordered the foreman, slipping on his clothes; and in ten minutes they emerged from the blacksmith shop, which also was a storeroom, and Johnny carried a coil of old but strong rope and an iron bar.
"I never thought I'd be totin' a runnin' iron," he chuckled. "If my friends could only see me now! Johnny Nelson, cow-thief an' brand-blotter!"
"You needn't swell up," growled Logan. "You ain't th' only one in this country right now."
"Well," said Johnny, "go back an' finish yore dream—mebby you can find out how to make them cows come back through Little Canyon."
"Yo're goin' to do that," responded Logan; "an' I'm goin' to close that window in case you come back. I ain't forgot nothin' you said—an' if we don't see one of yore signs for a period of five days, we'll comb yore valley an' th' whole Twin Buttes country. So long!"
Johnny melted into the dark, a low whistle sounded and in a few minutes Logan heard the rhythmic drumming of hoofs, rapidly growing fainter.