“Oh, that’s Bloom for you!” cried the doctor sarcastically. “His yellow streak is cropping out again. What’s wrong with this evidence, Bloom?”
“It could have been manufactured,” growled Bloom, with an uneasy look in the scout’s direction.
“Sure it could!” taunted the doctor. “Wild Bill and the baron could have caught Red Thunderbolt, broken the steer’s neck, and then fixed all this up. But where did they get the saddle and the saddlebags? I reckon they’re the ones who stole them from Jake, aren’t they? Say, Bloom, you’re the limit. If I didn’t think such a terrible lot of your family, I’d come over there and kick you down the slope and into the river. He’s got a fine family,” the doctor explained to those around him. “I brought his boy through the measles last year. Fine boy, too. Nothing like the sheriff.”
“I believe what my judgment tells me to believe,” cried Bloom on the defensive.
“Your judgment is a fearful and a wonderful thing, Bloom. I’m glad not many people are equipped with the same sort. I guess, friends,” he went on, “that there’s nothing more to be gained here. Nate Dunbar has been proved innocent of the trouble that happened to Jake Phelps; Lige Benner has been cleared of every suspicion of complicity in what happened to Ace Hawkins; and Buffalo Bill and pards have brought peace and good will to the Brazos range. I reckon that’s enough. Suppose we ride? I want to get back to the H-P outfit and see how Jake’s getting along.”
The scout left Nomad and Cayuse with Wild Bill and the baron. They were to get the scout’s rope and Red Thunderbolt’s hide. There was a reward of one thousand dollars out for the maverick, and the baron was laying his plans to file a request for the money.
CHAPTER XXX.
CONCLUSION.
On the way back to the Star-A ranch, close to which those from Phelps’ place would have to ride, a scurry of dust in the road claimed the attention of the riders.
“Mebbyso,” remarked old Nomad, “trouble’s goin’ te bust through thet cloud o’ dust. Pard Buffler an’ compadres don’t no more’n git time ter breathe arter one shake-up than another hits ’em. Who’s thet shackin’ this-a-way?”
When the form of the galloping horseman emerged from the cloud, the man was recognized as Prouther.