along; for up to then it seemed they were inclined to sheer off, and mind their own business; because in these unsettled days it was not always the wisest thing to push up alongside those who were driving stock, lest they butt in on matters that were not intended to be known outside of certain Walker circles.
At discovering their young friends of the preceding day circling the herd that bore the brand of the Bar-S Ranch, the three punchers exchanged looks of intense surprise; and their wonder evidently took leaps and bounds when they also recognized in Corney a man of ill repute, who was known to be connected with the Walker crowd.
Adrian had rather fancied the three punchers, and meant to see if he could not offer them inducements to engage with him, as he feared he would need a new supply of men, when he started to weed out the Bar-S employees.
[CHAPTER XIII.—ADRIAN HIRES MORE HELP.]
“We didn’t reckon we’d meet up with you so soon again,” remarked one of the cow-punchers, as, with his two companions, he drew in alongside Adrian; Donald at the time was “keeping tabs” on the rustler at some little distance away.
“And you’re wondering your heads off right now,” Adrian told him, with one of his rare smiles that made him so many friends, “what under the sun we’re doing with this bunch of cattle. It’s a long story, so I’ll just say that we saw a stampede with four rustlers managing it, and chased after. We found them in camp at the mouth of Bittersweet Coulie, up which they had chased the herd, where they could change the brands in the morning, and drive the lot away to one of the Walker ranches. Well, we managed to make the four punchers our prisoners; and leaving three bound there, we’re taking the other fellow part way along the back trail. When we got a few miles from the ranch buildings we thought we’d let him go back with the four ponies, so’s to free his pards. That’s the yarn in a nutshell, boys.”
They stared at him, as though hardly able to believe their ears. It seemed incredible that three mere lads should have managed to get the better of a bunch of the Walker rustlers, men whom all honest punchers wanted as little to do with as possible.
Still, there were the cattle as positive evidence of the truth of Adrian’s story, and they knew Corney, as well as his reputation, well enough.
“That beats anything I’ve heard tell of for many a day!” exclaimed one puncher, looking as though he might be ready to shout, and swing his hat in glee.
“First time them Walkers has been rubbed the wrong way for a hull year or more,” added the second fellow in chaps and flannel shirt, and boots that sported enormous Mexican spurs; “fact is, ever since Fred Comstock took water, and quit fightin’ ’em, an’ that was after he married that sister of Hatch Walker’s.”