“Once the rustlers get the cattle to the Cajons, it will be tough finding them. They’ll break up the herd and we’ll have to comb every valley.”
Slim nodded and gave voice to his thoughts.
“Aren’t we likely to run into the Diamond Dot, going through their range this way?”
“I’m kind of hoping we will,” shot back Al. “My own hunch is that the Diamond Dot is in thick with the rustlers. If they aren’t actually doing the rustling, they know who it is. Why, the Box B or the Double O would never let rustlers drive a herd across their range.”
It was shortly after noon and they were well into the Diamond Dot country when Slim, who was now in the lead, sighted a cloud of dust coming toward them. A few minutes later a plodding herd of cattle was visible and behind it was ranged a cordon of riders.
The Box B and Double O punchers paused to survey the scene. Then Joe exploded.
“What nerve!” he roared. “Those are Box B cattle and that’s a Diamond Dot gang riding behind them.”
His hands flashed to his side and his gun leaped up, ready for instant action, but Nels reached out a huge hand and restrained him.
“Wait a minute, Joe. They’re driving the cattle toward your range. Hold your temper and we’ll see what’s up.”
A lone rider broke away from the group behind the cattle and galloped toward the visitors. Slim recognized the powerful, squat figure of Hack Cook, owner of the Diamond Dot.