"Seems to amuse them," remarked Hall, and Meshackatee muttered an oath while the Bassetts looked on in grim silence.
"Bunch of Mormons," growled Winchester, "rigged out with horsetails and handkerchiefs—kinder reminds me of the Mountain Meadow massacre."
"All the same," spoke up Meshackatee, "we might use the danged jaspers. Git 'em to go down and clean up on the Scarboroughs!"
"Why not?" chimed in Hall. "This is no time for petty differences. Shall I tell them we'll give back their horses?"
"Sure," replied Meshackatee, "but they've got to prove ownership. Otherwise they'll claim the whole band. Go down and see what you can do."
Hall swung up on his horse and rode down the trail, and as he came up to the Mormons they reined to one side, leaving Grimes to do the talking.
"How'd do, Mr. Hall," he began, "do you know anything about our horses? So you're a deputy sheriff, hey?"
"Yes, I'm a deputy sheriff," answered McIvor evenly, "and I can't see that it's in any way a joke. There are three more officers up there in the rocks, and I'd advise you to show a little more respect."
"Oh, certainly!" mocked Grimes, "you're jest the hombres we're looking for. A big gang of horse-thieves has been raiding our ranches and driving off our stock for a month. Not gitting any protection we have organized to run 'em down and hang every scoundrel we can ketch; but now, of course, all we have to do is to report our losses to you!"