“Hell!” ejaculated Kreff.
“What’s eatin’ you?” inquired “Kansas.”
“ ‘Dirty’ Cheetim says a bunch of rustlers is runnin’ off some of our stock. He seen ’em headin’ past his place. Luke! Rustle up that ‘cavvy,’ pronto. You fellers feed while Luke’s gone. We’re all hittin’ the trail after them lousy thieves.”
“I reckon ‘Dirty’ is jest sore ’cause he didn’t git to the bunch ahead o’ them other fellers,” drawled “Kansas.”
Luke tucked his shirt tails into his trousers, grabbed his Stetson, and bolted for the corral. When Kreff had finished dressing he went to the cook house and told the Chinese cook to hurry breakfast. Then he walked over to the ranch house and stopping under Wichita’s window called her name aloud.
A moment later, a Navajo blanket about her shoulders, the girl appeared at the window. “What is it, ‘Smooth?’ ” she asked.
“You was right about the rustling,” he said. “Cheetim jest sent a Greaser with a note sayin’ he’d seen some fellers runnin’ off a bunch of our stock. I’m takin’ all the men an’ ridin’ after ’em. They can’t git away.”
“Good!” cried the girl. “I’ll go with you.”
“No, you better not. They’s almost sure to be shootin’.”
“I can shoot,” she replied.