“How much further to the summit?” asked the shorter of the two.
“Must be all of ten miles,” was the reply. “I’m not sure; never been to the top before.”
“Seems kinda foolish to have to watch this trail, but the chief is sure plenty mad about the way Newt and Maxie handled this deal. Means there’s a couple of cowboys on the prod somewhere in the valley.”
“And probably plenty mad, what with one of them getting his horse shot out from under him and both of them having to hoof it down from the summit.”
“Kinda funny we didn’t run across them,” said the squat, heavy-set puncher.
“It’s all right with me that we didn’t,” growled his companion. “Look at the elbow Maxie’s got. He won’t be able to use it for a couple of months. If that slug had been a little deeper, Maxie could have kissed his arm goodbye.”
“All the same, it seems darned foolish ordering us up here to see that no one comes down the trail. The chief’s either getting ready to pull a big raid or he’s getting cold feet and is going to leave the valley.”
The voices were fainter as the riders went up the trail, but Slim listened eagerly to get the reply of the taller puncher.
“Don’t worry about the chief getting cold feet. He’s got all of the nerve in the world. In a little while, he’s going to be the cattle king of the Creeping Shadows.”
Slim smiled grimly. The “chief” would be cattle king only after he had disposed of Adam Marks and if there was anything Slim and Chuck could do to prevent it, that would never be accomplished.