“Kid,” he said, “we left thet Greaser there on the ranch. I don’t guess we should have. You ride back an’ look after things—an’ don’t let no grass grow under you while you’re doin’ it.”
Luke, though disappointed at the thought of missing the excitement of a brush with the rustlers, reined in, wheeled his pony, and spurred back toward the ranch.
Wichita, coming from the office door after breakfast, saw four strange men ride into the ranch yard. She saw the Mexican youth who had brought word of the stolen cattle ride up to them, but she could not hear what they said, nor was it apparent that the Mexican was acquainted with the newcomers.
The four rode toward her presently, and as they neared her one of them removed his hat and asked if he could see the boss.
“I’m the boss,” she replied.
“We’re lookin’ fer work,” said the man; and as he spoke he dismounted and walked close to her, the others reining near as though to hear what her answer would be.
When the man was quite close he suddenly seized her, whirled her about and held her hands behind her. At the same instant another of his fellows dismounted and stepped quickly to her. She struggled and fought to free herself; but she was helpless, and in another moment they had bound her wrists behind her.
As they were lifting her to one of the horses the Chinese ran from the cook house, calling to them to stop; but one of the men drew his six-shooter, and a single, menacing shot was enough to send the unarmed domestic back into his kitchen.
Cheetim, watching from the hills south of the ranch, saw all that transpired within the yard and was highly elated at the ease with which his nefarious plan was being carried out; but, alas, things were running far too smoothly.
What was that? He bent an attentive ear toward the west and recognized the cadenced pounding of the hoofs of a rapidly galloping horse—the little rift within the lute.