“You go to Hell!” remarked Speaker joyfully.
“Don’t call yore ranch names,” admonished Jimmie with a grin, and fainted.
CHAPTER XIX
AN INDIAN COULEE
By four o’clock in the morning the fifteen hundred head of cattle had crossed the ford of the Big Horn and were bedded down on the other side. When this hazardous business had been completed, Bud Larkin ordered the sheep brought up and kept on the eastern bank among the cool grass of the bottoms.
The captive rustlers, under guard, were being held until daylight, when, it had been decided, they would be taken to the almost deserted Bar T ranch, and kept there until further action could be determined on in regard to them.
When dawn finally came Bud looked at the stolid faces of the men, and recognized most of them as having belonged to the party that had so nearly ended his earthly career. He called them by their names, and some of them grinned a recognition.
“Hardly expected to meet yuh again,” said one amiably. “Thought it might be t’other side of Jordan, but not this side of the Big Horn.” 236