“The Double R cows is shrinkin’ like snowballs in hell—so a dozen of the boys is put ridin’ the range to keep the herd from shrinkin’ complete,” Shorty explained.
“Spur is sure gettin’ ready to go on the prod,” another rider said with a laugh.
“Yuh let me go with yuh?” Allen asked.
After a moment’s protest, Shorty agreed to allow the boy to accompany him. After Allen had retrieved his gun and shoulder holster, he saddled his gray and he and Shorty rode south from the ranch.
There was a quarter moon, and the whole plain was covered with a deceptive light.
“Why for don’t Spur go an’ talk personal with this Boston Jack?” Allen asked.
“He done it just after ol’ man Reed was downed, but didn’t find nothin’ a-tall. Boston just laughed at him—but one of his riders gets hot under the collar an’ talks war to Sandy McGill, who drops him pronto. Just the same, I’m plumb curious an’ I figger on amblin’ some night into the Hard Pan an’ havin’ a look. Spur puts them gunmen of hisn over that way—but I don’t trust them gents none a-tall!”
“Spur gets ’em after the old man is downed?” Allen asked.
“Naw, the old man gets ’em up from the border a couple of weeks afore he stops lead. Funny how he was wanderin’ about by hisself when he runs into them rustlers what downed him. Yep, it’s sure funny, ’cause I hears he hires them McGills as personal bodyguards. It would ’a’ been positively ludicrous if Spur hadn’t been there,” Shorty said reflectively.
“What yuh mean—Spur bein’ there?” Allen encouraged.