“Good, hell,” the Scot snarled, “if I had my way I would have cleaned up for them long ago.”
“Well,” declared Red with a grin, “he’s got that out of his system. Scotty and those two punchers get along just like two strange bulldogs.”
Mason was getting decidedly interested. “What particular thing have you got against these men?” he asked.
The face of the cowboy took on a grim look.
“I have a suspicion they are running our cattle, and the foreman thinks so, too,” he explained, “but they are slick about it and we can’t get anything on them yet. Our foreman is sheriff of this county, and if he ever gets any evidence he will push them to the limit, for he is a bad man when he gets started. You see, Jack,” Red continued, “there’s a ranch up the valley from us run by a man named Ricker. His boundary line touches ours and these two men used to work for him. Ricker is as crooked as they make them and we think these two men are spotting our cattle for Ricker and helping him run them over the line.”
“It begins to look as if I am going to have an interesting time out here,” mused Mason to himself.
“Do you know, Red, I think I am going to like this life; that is, if I can get used to this rough riding,” he finished tersely, as he squirmed in the saddle.
Red laughed.
“You’ll soon get used to hard riding if you stick with us,” he said.
“Yes,” chimed in Scotty with a grin, “but don’t let that redhead try to show you how to do any trick riding.”