“Yeh,” grunted Al Bass. “There’s a trail a quarter mile west of here where about sixty head of our stuff was driven onto your range last night. Laugh that one off.”
“Looks to me like a clever attempt to get the Box B and the Double O into a lot of gun play and clean both outfits out while they were busy trying to settle grievances,” said Slim.
He turned to Nels Anderson. Briefly he told him of the attempt to kill Adam Marks and how he had trailed the bushwhacker, only to be beaten back by the storm.
“The man who shot Adam Marks was riding a horse that had a V-shaped mark on the left rear shoe,” said Slim. “We found the same mark left by one of the horses used to drive our cattle onto your range last night.”
“So you figured that it was a Double O rider who tried to kill your boss,” said Al Bass.
“That’s about the ticket,” said Joe.
Nels Anderson’s big frame shook with anger.
“Fools, fools,” he cried. “Why, Adam and I came here together. We don’t always agree, but by gar I sure wouldn’t let anyone take a shot at him.”
Al Bass leaned forward.
“I was the fellow who found out our cattle had been rustled and I got a good look at the hoofprints left by the rustlers’ horses. There’s just such a mark as you described on one of the left rear prints.”