“Don’t let that worry you old man,” Baxter assured him, “the estimates I made may not be accurate but they are conservative, and I’d bet my last dollar that every band on your district is padded.”
“I am not worrying about your estimates. I am perfectly willing to trust them. What I am afraid of is that they will drive off the extras between now and Monday morning. Then where would I be on the recount?”
“By George,” Baxter exclaimed, slapping his thigh, “I had not thought of that. That is certainly what they will try to do.”
“That is where you come in,” Scott said. “I wanted to see if you would patrol the line here and see that they do not run them over your territory temporarily. They might try that with the idea of bringing them back into my district when the recount is over. They probably figure that I would not dare to order a second recount after they had proved that I was wrong on the first.”
“You bet I will patrol that line,” Baxter exclaimed eagerly, “both for your sake and mine. I don’t want those beggars to slip anything over on me. I have a guard here who is a dandy and the two of us can keep that line tighter than beeswax.”
“Are the herders in your district in with that bunch?” Scott asked absently.
“I should say not,” Baxter replied contemptuously, “they are a different sort. They come from the other side of the mountains, you know, and hate Jed Clark’s gang.”
“That’s what I thought,” Scott said. “How would it do to tell them that you have heard that some of Jed’s herders are going to try to sneak some sheep over here and steal some of their grass?”
“Great,” Baxter exclaimed. “You are some diplomatist, Burton. I’ll tell them and if those fellows do try to come over you want to be around and see the fight.”
“Then I’ll count on you for this end,” Scott explained, “and that will leave me free to watch the chute and keep an eye on them occasionally to see that they do not sneak up over the ridge. That will help me out in great shape. Thanks.”