"Toward the railroad?"
"By cripes, no. Toward the mountains. If 't been the railroad side we might have stood a chance of corralling the Shorthorns, but if they once get into the mountains—Lord-ee, I believe yer uncle'll rise out of his grave an' go after 'em. Them critters was the pride of his life. Ranlett was a low-down dawg to turn a trick like this. Say, do you know anything about thet range-rider at Bear Creek?"
"Why—why—I've spoken to him. You don't suspect him of being in this deal, do you?"
"I ain't suspectin' nothin', but after I'd saw him twice talkin' to Ranlett I sort of got his number."
"You've got it wrong, then, Pete. I happen to know that the man is white clear through."
"Well, I ain't shootin' off my mouth careless when I say that the range-rider's got somethin' up his sleeve. It's my best bet there's going to be fifty-seven varieties of hell blowin' up round this ranch before we get through. If you ask me, I'll say that the crime-wave that's been lappin' the coast has swashed out here in a flood."
"But, Pete, it's impossible for rustlers to get away with their old stuff now."
"You're shoutin', Chief, it sure is, but—they'll find some new ways. I got it doped out your way too, but if it ain't rustlin', what fool thing is that coyote Ranlett up to?"
"Giving us a run for our cattle, I guess. Spite. How many boys can we spare to round up the Shorthorns?"
"I've sent fer the bunch. There's somethin' else phoney that I haven't told yer. It's been open and shut in my mind whether I'd better."