"But I don't savvy this," burst out the red-haired youth. "Surely this
Gentleman John isn't——"
"He's the man behind it all, mah boy," the Texan told him. And in a few words, he related how he had been approached by the self-styled cattle king, and something of his shady dealings. "He wanted to buy me," he concluded, "not knowin' that I had nevah abused the powah of the Colt fo' mah own gain. Blacksnake is his chief gunman, actin' by Gentleman John's ordahs."
"Where's the other men—the two riders on duty with Joe?" Lefty Warren wanted to know.
It did not take much of a search to find them. One had fallen near the little corral, shot through the heart. The other lay a few hundred yards away, at the river bank. He, too, was dead.
"Mo' murdah," snapped the Texan grimly. "Well, we must make ouah plans."
In this sudden crisis, the other three left most of the planning to Kid Wolf himself. First of all, the bodies were buried. Rocks were piled on the hastily made graves to keep the coyotes out, and they were ready to go again.
The Texan decided to follow the trails left by the stolen cattle, for both herds were gone now, driven off the Diamond D range. Failing in their attempt to get Joe Morton's signature, the outlaws had evidently decided to take what they could get.
There was one big reason why Gentleman John wished to get his hands on the Diamond D. Although land was plentiful in that early day, Red's father had obtained a land grant from a Spanish governor—a grant that still held good and kept other herds from the rich grazing land and ample water along Blue-bottle Creek.
As they started down the trail again toward the broken, mountainous country to the southwest, The Kid sent Red a quick glance.
"Are yo' all right, son?" he asked.