Gallagher, with a grin, lit his pipe, and leaning back in the chair that the Sergeant had dragged out for him, blew out a cloud of smoke reflectively.
“Well, he weren’t what you’d call exactly sober,” he drawled. “It was the same old business.... Says there’s some of them a layin’ to run off that bunch o’ hawsses o’ his. Reckons he’s got it straight this time.”
“He always has,” responded the policeman, spitting with contemptuous remembrance. “I’m just about fed up with his picayune happenings. He makes me tired. Time and again he’s got me a chasin’ over to his place, and there’s never nothin’ doin’.... Just some gag they’ve bin a throwin’ into him.”
The other was silent for a space. “Mebbe,” he acquiesced musingly. “But I don’t know, Sargint ... he seemed more worked up this time’n I ever see him.”
Ellis pondered over this dilemma. A complaint was a complaint, and anyhow, no one could ever accuse him of neglecting his duty.
“See here; look,” he said presently. “I’d go on over and see what’s worryin’ that old soor, but fact is, I’m stuck for a hawss. That black o’ mine went lame on me comin’ home last night. Picked up a nail. He won’t be fit to ride for three or four days. Got anythin’ in yore bunch yu’ could fix me up with till he gets sound again, Gallagher?”
The rancher considered a moment or two with a grave, inscrutable face. “Let’s see,” he said thoughtfully, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so little. “I guess,” he broke out finally. “Will yu’ come on over, Sargint?”
An hour later Benton, perched on the top rail of Gallagher’s horse corral, lazily watched that worthy driving in his band of horses from their range in a neighboring coulee and, slipping down on their near approach, he opened the gate and then effaced himself out of their sight carefully, to prevent a possible scare.
Well strung out, with heads up and manes and tails flying, they followed their leader, a powerfully-built, buckskin gelding. It was an old, well-known trail to them and, presently, with customary obedience, they surged through the opening into the big main corral, where they stood around, a playfully biting, kicking mass of horseflesh, while their owner, bringing up the rear, dismounted from his quiet old cow-pony and hung up the gate behind them. Ellis, emerging from his hiding-place, climbed up beside him on the fence, and together the two men gazed silently awhile at the animated scene below them.
There were perhaps about thirty head all told, of different grades, ages, and colors, from the heavy Percheron-bred draught-horse to the slender, cat-like cayuse.