“Oh, no, yuh can’t do that, Bissell,” and blond Billy Speaker shook his head. “Yuh got to give ’im a chance to defend himself. Now we’re here 164 we want to get all the facts. What did yuh do to his sheep, Beef? I never heard.”
“I run a few of ’em into the Little River, if yore any happier knowin’,” snapped Bissell, glowering on Speaker.
Larkin grinned.
“Two thousand of ’em,” he volunteered. There was no comment.
“These gents know,” went on Bissell, after a short pause, “that yuh were two days with them rustlers and that yuh can tell who they are if yuh will. Now will yuh tell us how you got in with ’em in the first place?”
Bud began at the time of the crossing of the Big Horn and with much detail described how he had outwitted the Bar T punchers with the hundred sheep under Pedro, while the rest of the flock went placidly north. His manner of address was good, he talked straightforwardly, and with conviction and, best of all, had a broad sense of humor that vastly amused these cowmen.
Sympathetic though they were with Bissell’s cause, Larkin’s story of how a despised sheepman had outwitted the cattle-king brought grins and chuckles.
“I allow yuh better steer clear o’ them sheep, Bissell,” suggested one man drolly. “First thing 165 yuh know this feller’ll tell yuh he’s bought the Bar T away from yuh without yore knowin’ it. Better look up yore land grant to-night.”
By this time Bissell had become a caldron of seething rage. His hand actually itched to grab his gun and teach Larkin a lesson. But his position as chairman of the gathering prevented this, although he knew that plains gossip was being made with every word spoken. Among the cowmen about him were some whose ill success or smaller ranches had made them jealous, and, in his mind, he could see them retailing with much relish what a fool Larkin had made of him. He knew he would meet with reminders of this trial during the rest of his life.
However, he stuck to his guns.