“You wouldn’t know who shot at Maxie, would you?” Haines asked, a broad grin wrinkling his face.
“I might,” smiled Slim, “and then again I might not. I’ve got a bad memory.”
“I think we’re going to get along fine,” said the foreman, “and I’m only hoping that pardner of yours is the right kind of a hombre.”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s as steady as they make them and a dead shot with a rifle.”
“Then I’m starting to take heart again. For a while it looked like we would be cleaned out, but with a couple of good riders who’ve got plenty of nerve and aren’t afraid of a struggle, we’ll fight this gang of rustlers to the end.”
Chapter Thirteen
Fading Trails
The ride to the mouth of Wolf coulee was uneventful and the sun was swinging high above the Cajons when they reached the scene where the owner of the Box B had been ambushed the night before.
The mouth of Wolf coulee was broad with the trail from the ranch to Dirty Water down the center of the draw. An outcropping of rock thrust its way into the coulee from the right and it was obvious that from the shelter of the rock the gunman had fired at Adam Marks.
The riders slipped from their saddles and picked their way carefully over the broken ground, Slim taking the lead.
“It must have been almost dark when it happened,” said Slim, “for it was some time after nightfall when the horses came galloping into Dirty Water.”