“I jest been ridin’ the east range, Miss,” he said.
“Yes? Everything all right?”
“I wouldn’t say thet it was an’ I wouldn’t say thet it wasn’t,” he replied.
“What’s wrong?”
“You recollect thet bunch thet always hung out near the head o’ the coulee where them cedars grows out o’ the rocks?”
“Yes, what about them?”
“They’s about half of ’em gone. If they was all gone I’d think they might have drifted to some other part o’ the range; but they was calves, yearlin’s, and some two an’ three year olds still follerin’ their mothers in thet bunch; an’ a bunch like thet don’t scatter fer no good reason.”
“No. What do you make of it, Luke?”
“If the renegades warnt all c’ralled I’d say Apaches.”
“ ‘Kansas’ reported another bunch broken up that ranges around the Little Mesa,” said Wichita, thoughtfully. “Do you reckon it’s rustlers, Luke?”