“He did used to be a fighter; but seems like his heart it’s broke with havin’ her hands in his hair so often; and he never lets out a yawp these days, no matter what happens. And say, them steers is got the Bar-S brand on right now; seems like they must a come from his place, the third lot he’s lost in nine months.”
“It’s going to be the last, if I know anything about it!” declared Adrian; at which suggestive
words the three cow-punchers exchanged significant glances, and then the lanky fellow remarked:
“We doesn’t mean to be personal, you know, stranger, but might we ask what that’s got to do with you?” he went on to say.
“Only this,” replied the boy, quickly; “they’ve been robbing me long enough, and I think it’s about time this Walker gang was broken up, in the bargain. There’s a new sheriff just come into office, I’m told, and as soon as I can get word to him I’m going to demand that he come to the Bar-S Ranch with a posse, to take some decided action. Perhaps, when they find out that there’s something on foot, the other ranch owners around this part of the Wyoming range country will join in with me. Oh! I forgot that I hadn’t introduced myself yet. I’m Adrian Sherwood, and it’s my Uncle Fred Comstock you’ve been telling such queer stories about.”
“Put her there, Adrian!” shouted the lanky puncher, thrusting out his hand. “I sure am proud to meet up with the son of a man that had such a good name as your dad. And if what you’ve started in to do is a sign of what’s goin’ to happen here, I reckons as how the Walkers’ll hev to walk purty soon, eh, boys?” and he turned to nod his head at his comrades.
These two were just as desirous of shaking hands
with young Sherwood as the lanky fellow had been; and Adrian liked them more than ever.
“I’ve been surprised at the bad returns I’ve been getting a long while now, from Uncle Fred,” he went on to say, “and made up my mind to run along here from Arizona, where I was visiting my friend Donald Mackay, on his father’s ranch, just to find out for myself what was going on.”
“Then Comstock nor his big wife don’t suspicion that you’re around, is thet it, Adrian?” exclaimed the thin puncher, grinning as though vastly pleased.