“Phooey, is right,” grinned Slim. “I guess you’re safe enough from the rustlers. Got any idea who’s causing all of the trouble?”
“Plenty ideas, no proof. Bad business to talk with loose tongue.”
“You’re right, Wu. A loose tongue can sure get a fellow into a lot of trouble.”
Chuck stuck his head in the door.
“They want you at the ranch house as soon as you’re through.”
“I’ll be along in a minute.” Slim finished the last of the can of peaches. “Great supper, Wu. Thanks a lot for saving it for me.”
“Okay,” grinned Wu, who had warmed to Slim’s praise of his cooking.
Slim found the owner of the Box B propped up in bed. Joe Haines was in a chair nearby.
“Chuck’s told us about the rain,” said Adam Marks, his keen eyes glinting beneath the bandage which swathed his head. “Anything else happen?”
Slim recounted briefly his hard ride on the trail of the bushwhacker. “The fellow was circling along the foothills and riding pretty hard. He must have had an idea he would be trailed.”