Slim dismounted and moved forward warily, his rifle ready for instant use. Then the echo of hoofs warned him of the approach of another rider and up ahead Chuck burst into view on his calico cayuse. It was then that Slim knew Cook’s fall from the saddle was no ruse. He had been shot down by Chuck, who had suddenly voted himself a hand in the play.
The Flying Arrow cowboy was the first to reach the wounded rustler. Cook was still dazed from the shock of the wound and the fall, but he was not seriously injured. Relieving him of his weapons, Slim looked up just as Chuck arrived in a thunder of drumming hoofs and a cloud of dust.
“Where under the sun did you come from?” demanded the astonished Slim.
“I’ll tell you all about that later. Did I get that skunk?” Chuck pointed toward the rustler.
“Through the right shoulder,” nodded Slim. “If you hadn’t cut in on the play when you did, I was figuring on stopping his travels in about another second.”
“Yeh, but I owed him a little more than you did. What’s happened since I did the disappearing act?”
“We had a little fireworks along the railroad this afternoon,” smiled Slim. “Seemed a half dozen hombres were shipping some Box B cattle under another name and we put a stop to it.”
“Did you get them all?”
“Counting Cook here, they’re all in the bag.”
“That must just about clean out the gang,” said Chuck.