“Why,” exclaimed Sterling Carr, “it’s the Flying A!”
“Exactly,” grinned Otis. “Now, look at the fellow’s hand. Who on the Flying A has a finger missing? If—grab that man!”
The last words were shot out explosively. Otis leaped toward the figure which had shot toward the door. A dozen of the cow-hands closed in upon the fugitive. Margaret Carr screamed. There were grunts and oaths from the tangled mass of figures near the door. A set of elk antlers was knocked crashing to the floor.
“All right, boys,” came in muffled tones from beneath the mass of figures. “Leave him loose. I’ve got him!”
The heap of bodies untangled. From its midst arose Sheriff Lafe Ogden. One hand gripped the sleeve of Jess Bledsoe of the Flying A. His wrists were manacled in handcuffs. He glared wildly about the room.
“I guess,” drawled the Sheriff, “that we don’t need to see the face in the picture now, to know who’s been rustling the cattle on this range, or to know who killed Joe Fyffe. Pretty shrewd, while it lasted. Dressed like Otis, and complained to me every so often about the rustlers, so it would look like he was losin’ calves too. Well, he wont ride that chestnut horse that looks like Otis’ Pie-face chestnut for a while, I’ll guarantee.”
“I suspicioned it all the time,” broke in Simple Sample. “But Otis, how about them rangers? Cain’t you-all figger out some way to get rid of them, now that you’ve figgered this out so purty?”
“I don’t think you’ll have much trouble with the Red Rock ranger station after this, boys,” Otis laughed. “You see, I put in my application for a job as forest ranger months ago. Fyffe’s death leaves the first vacancy.
“I was talking it over with Mariel as we rode down here from the ranger cabin this morning. You can be sure of a square deal all right from some one who has the stockmen’s interests at heart. She and I decided that I’m going to take the Red Rock ranger job just as soon—”