A few minutes later we took the road. We had not gone very far, however, before we met the neighbour who had driven Johnson to town. He pulled up and greeted us.
"Boys," said he. "I've a note for ye from that Britisher."
We took the note, but we did not open it till our Californian friend had disappeared. We had been butchered, but as yet the abominable fact that a compatriot had skinned us was something we wished to keep to ourselves.
"Great Minneapolis!" said Ajax. "Look at this!"
I saw a bank receipt for the exact sum which represented our bunch of steers.
"Is that all?" I asked.
Ajax ought to have shouted for joy, but he answered with a groan.
"Yes; there isn't a line of explanation. He said we should hear from him."
"And we have," I replied.
We returned to the ranch very soberly. When Ajax placed the bank receipt in the safe, he kicked that solid piece of furniture.