"That'll be all, Mr. Upton," said Boone Morgan, quietly, "I'm up here lookin' for the owner of this new Circle Double-cross brand. Is that your iron? It is? Well, I'll have to ask you to go back with me to-morrow and explain where them cows come from."
"Well, by the holy—jumpin'—" The cowman paused in his wrath and fixed his fiery eyes on Boone Morgan. "Did Ike Crittenden put you up to this?" he demanded, and taking silence for consent he went off into a frenzy of indignation. "Well, what you chasin' me for?" he yelled, choking with exasperation. "Old Crit goes over into Lost Dog and runs off every dam' one of them Monkey-wrench cows, and you come right through his camp and jump me! They wasn't a critter in Lost Dog that hadn't been burnt over my U, and you know it; but ump-um—Crit's a friend of mine—never make him any trouble—go over and tackle Upton—he's a Tonto County man!"
The sheriff listened to this tirade with a tolerant smile, feeding himself liberally the while. He had long ago learned that the world's supply of self-righteousness is not held in monopoly by the truly good—also that every horse must go to the length of his picket rope before he will stop and eat. But when the fireworks were over he remarked by way of conversation, "Crit's got one of your JIC cows down there in his corral—a red three, bald-faced and kind of spotted on the shoulders. Looks like it had been branded lately."
"Yes, an' I've got one of his ICU2's down in my corral," retorted Upton, "and it sure has been branded lately—you could smell the burnt hair when I picked it up five days ago. They ain't a man in my outfit that don't know that old cow for an ICU, too."
"Um," commented Morgan, "you think he stole it, hey?"
"I know it!" replied Upton, with decision. "You can see her yoreself, down in my headquarters corral, and I picked her up in the track of Crit's round-up."
"Well, you better swear out a warrant, then, and we'll take the cow down for evidence. You were hintin' that I'm standin' in with Crittenden, but jest swear to a complaint and see how quick I'll serve the papers."
For a moment the cowman cocked his head and regarded him shrewdly—then he shook his head. "I've got too much loose stock runnin' on his range," he said.
"I'll protect your property," urged the sheriff. "Come on, now—quit your kickin' and make a complaint."
"Nope—too dangerous! I can take care of myself in the hills, but if them Geronimo lawyers ever git holt of me I'm done for. You can take me down to-morrer, if you want to, but I'd rather stick to my own game."