“That’s one of the Double O boys. Nels Anderson, their boss, keeps them all riding our range line. Claims he’s lost cattle and doesn’t make any bones about saying that he thinks they’re on our range. Matter of fact, I guess he did find about forty head he’d lost over here.”
“Which doesn’t mean the Box B rustled them.”
“Well you try to tell that square-head that story. We’ve all talked ourselves hoarse.”
The lone horseman waved as the Box B punchers passed a few hundred yards away and they waved in return.
“That’s Al Bass. The Double O riders are all friendly enough, but they have to do what old Nels tells them.”
They reached the ranch shortly before sundown and found the other riders there ahead of them. There had been no sign of the rustlers anywhere on the Box B and Joe Haines led his punchers to supper with a lighter heart.
After supper Slim had a chance to talk with the foreman alone.
“How many head have you lost altogether?” he asked.
“I’d say around 500. That’s a rough guess, but we won’t know for sure until the fall round-up.”
Slim whistled. “That’s a lot of cattle.”