"No, sir. He was a big man with red hair and beard and he had a scar over his left temple. The men with him called him Bluff."
"Don't know any such man, do you, Luke?"
Luke shook his head.
"Nobody who would mix up in such a dirty deal as that. Oscar Stillwell who owns a cow ranch on the other side of the Rosebud, answers to that description, but he ain't the man for that kind of a raw job. Known him five years now."
"Sure about him, are you?"
"Positive. He don't approve of the hatred that the cowmen generally have for the sheep business. Says there's free grass enough for all of us and that the sheepmen have just as much right to it as the cowmen. I'll ride over to his ranch this afternoon and talk with him. I can tell him the story without his giving it away."
"Just as you think best. You know your man and I don't."
"Yes. And if there's any such plan on foot, he'll be likely to know about it."
"This business has been getting altogether too common. All the way up and down the old Custer trail, there has been sheep killing, sheep stealing, stampeding and no end of trouble for the past year. We have seemed unable to fix the responsibility on anyone. But I'll tell you that if they try to break into any of our herds this time, somebody is going to be shot," decided Mr. Simms, compressing his lips tightly together. "We're forewarned this time."
"Have you any suggestions, Mr. Simms? I must be getting back to the ranch if this is in the wind?"