“Gamble on me,” returned the leader with ready good-nature, “I’ll make it as clean as a boiled shirt. I take it you don’t know my reputation, pard. Well, you’ll learn. You’re all right, only a trifle green, that’s all.”
With a firm, quick hand, he began running the searing iron over the right hip of the animal. When he had finished and the steer, released, staggered to its feet, Williston saw the brand clearly. It was J R. If it had been worked over another brand, it certainly was a clean job. He could see no indications of any old markings whatsoever.
“Too clean to be worked over a lazy S,” thought Williston, “but not over three bars.”
“There were six reds,” said the chief, surveying the remaining bunch with a critical eye. “One must have wandered off while I was gone. Get out there in the brush and round him up, Alec, while I tackle this long-horned gentleman.”
Williston turned noiselessly away from the scene which so suddenly threatened danger. Both men were fully armed and would brook no eavesdropping. Once more he crossed the sand in safety and found his horse where he had left him, up the ravine. He vaulted into the saddle and galloped away into the quiet night.
[CHAPTER II—“ON THE TRAIL”]
Williston himself came to the door. His thin, scholarly face looked drawn and worn in the mid-day glare. A tiredness in the eyes told graphically of a sleepless night.
“I’m glad to see you, Langford,” he said. “It was good of you to come. Leave your horse for Mary. She’ll give her water when she’s cooled off a bit.”
“You sent for me, Williston?” asked the young man, rubbing his face affectionately against the wet neck of his mare.
“I did. It was good of you to come so soon.”