“He shore et. We taken him in. He done broke the one law of this country.”
CHAPTER XI
THE COURT ON THE TRAIL
THE sun swung low. Nabours rode back, addressing his point men impersonally. “We bed on the slope, yon. Let ’em water full.”
As the cattle quenched their thirst the men quietly pressed them to the left of the route, urging them one side, blocking further progress. The half-wild cattle seemed to know that here, on high, smooth ground, breeze-swept and dry, with good mattress not only of new but old grass, they could get a good night’s lodging. They grazed, slowed down, and the men held them till they should bed down for sleep. Over four thousand cattle, of all ages—too large and too mixed a body for good trailing—now were by way of forming good trail habits.
But Nabours left the herd and spoke a time with Del Williams, five other men of his oldest. Together they rode to where Dan McMasters sat his horse, idly watching the cattle in the cool of evening. They rode so silently, so grimly, that a shadow of menace must have lain before them. Without a word the tall, slender figure whirled his horse to front them. Like a rattler, he always was on guard. His elbows nearly level with his hips, his two hands touched his guns.
“Yes, gentlemen?” McMasters spoke quietly.
“Better drop the guns,” said Nabours, also unagitated. “There’s six of us.”
“There’s twelve of me,” said Dan McMasters evenly. “You wanted me?”
“Yes. Drop yore guns on the ground.”
“Don’t any of you make a move,” was the other’s reply to this. “I don’t know what you mean.” Both guns were out.