"Mornin', Curly," said the sheriff pleasantly. "Lookin' for a doctor?
You're ridin' perty fast."
"Nope," said Curly. "Reckon it's a shade too late fer a doctor."
The sheriff was gravely silent. After a while he said, quietly:"
"Any trouble?"
"Yep. Plenty."
"Who?"
"Why, it's Cal Greathouse. You know Cal. This is his second drive. His cows is down on the Rattlesnake bottoms now. He was camped there two weeks, not fur from my place. Last week he goes off west a ways, a-lookin' fer some winter range that won't be so crowded. He goes alone. Now, to-day his horse comes back, draggin' his lariat. We 'lowed we better come tell you. O' course, they ain't no horse gettin' away f'm Cal Greathouse, not if he's alive."
The sheriff was silent for some time, looking at his visitor straight with his oxlike eyes. "Did Cal have much money with him?" he asked, finally.
"Not so awful much, near's the boys can tell. Mebbe a few hundred, fer spendin' money, like."
"Had he had any furse with ary feller down in there lately?"