“Let him try it, and see what he runs up against, that’s all,” Ned replied, as he watched Ally Sloper pushing his way to the front.
Somehow the other four did not follow him. They were wise enough to realize that such a move might expose them to suspicion. If Sloper chose to protest against being sent out on the range at this late hour of the day, that was his privilege; but there was no necessity for them to show their hand so early in the game. They knew what the anger of cow-punchers was like and had a healthy respect for it.
Before the advancing man could get near enough to say anything, Chunky began to speak as though he did not notice this aggressive movement.
“I’ll head one party, and with me will go Arizona Tom, Dutchy, Ally Sloper and two of the visitors at the ranch. Skinny will take another party to bring in the herd from the alfalfa prairie,” and so he went on apportioning the men, placing one he could positively trust at the head of each detachment, and making sure that each squad held a “suspect.”
It had all been well laid out, and in the strongest bunch, consisting of seven riders, two of the unfaithful lot had been included. Each party had been given a particular herd to manage, so that the work could be carried out in systematic order.
Of course, Chunky intended to give the several leaders a quiet tip before they started out, so that they could keep an eye on the suspects and thwart any move that looked as though they meant to slip away, or send warning to their friends in the hills.
Sloper had stood and listened to what Chunky said. Evidently it confirmed what suspicions he may have already had concerning the breaking up of their plot. And he would have been a stupid man not to have connected the coming of the scouts with this sudden move, looking to a round-up that had not been ordered by the proprietors of the big ranch.
Some of the men had started to hurry away; others stood there in a half-hesitating way, as though they had noticed the belligerent attitude of Ally Sloper and wished to see what he meant to do. He may have given trouble on other past occasions and was only kept on account of his acknowledged skill as a puncher.
“Hold on there, Chunky, I want to say as I aint agoin’ out on the range with ye this time. I reckons as how I’ve done a good hard day’s work a’ready. ’Sides that, take it from me straight that I don’t mean to look to a kid like this here newcomer for my boss. I’m alayin’ down on the job for onct, see?”
“No, I don’t see, Sloper,” returned the emaciated puncher, facing the other, a gleam in his eyes that was not nice to watch. “Are you sick?”