“You’re darned right he did,” put in the range foreman. “We wouldn’t let a shooting like that go without trying to get revenge.”
“Get any clues on the fellow’s identity?” asked Marks.
“I’ll recognize the marks of his horse’s shoes wherever I see them,” replied Slim.
“Good boy. We’ve needed a couple of nervy riders like you and your pardner. It gives me new courage. We’ll whip these rustlers to a standstill.”
“I’d like to know how they ship the stock they rustle,” said Slim.
Joe Haines smiled grimly. “I’d like to know the same thing. I’ve got a hunch, but you can’t prove anything on a hunch.”
“How do the other cattlemen in the valley stand?”
“They’re all suspicious since I started losing cattle. Claim they’re being raided, too, but I doubt that. No one will work together. It’s every man for himself.”
They discussed the situation for a time and then Slim went to the bunkhouse. The other riders were in their bunks, apparently asleep, but Chuck roused up and lifted his bulk on one elbow. He started to speak, but Slim shook his head, undressed, turned out the light, and rolled into the blankets. He was worn out by the hard ride on the trail and he fell into a slumber that was broken only by the strident tones of Lee Wu’s breakfast bell the next morning.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Slim found the bunkhouse deserted, but the sound of running water and other noises informed him that his companions were outside at the pump.