His words produced a horrible change in the weather-beaten, sinister countenance of his prisoner.
“By ——, I was a-thinkin’ so.... Right from th’ fust crack,” he said spitefully, with an oath. “An’ now I’ll tell yu’ somethin’ that ain’t no lie. Them two same fellers has it fixed to annex old Bob Tucker’s bunch o’ hawsses—tomorrer night. I was a-goin’ to give ’em a hand, too,” he continued defiantly, with reckless abandon. “They figures on takin’ ’em up to a place they knows of in th’ bush—up Ghost River way—for a spell, till things quietens down a bit, I guess; then they’ll drive ’em South, to Paralee Junction, an’ try an’ ship ’em East from there. George Fisk an’ me had a sorter diff’runce ’bout whackin’ up. He says to me: ‘Take it, or leave it!’—them were his words—‘Me an’ Scotty ain’t exactly pertic’lar whether yu’ stays in th’ family or not,’ he says.”
He paused for breath. Ellis shot a warning glance that spoke volumes to Gallagher who, with open-mouthed curiosity, was listening eagerly to this amazing recital.
“Well, yu’ see they’ve double-crossed yu’, amigo,” he said, with a calm, convincing composure that left no further doubt in his prisoner’s mind.
“Just a frame-up,” he continued. “Why, them fellers has good steady jobs punchin’ for th’ Wharnock Cattle Company, which they ain’t got no intention o’ leavin’ for to run off anybody’s hawsses. They ain’t exactly stuck on yu’ so, naturally, they figured this was th’ easiest way to get rid of yu’.”
Shorty spat vindictively, and his pale, lynx-like, merciless eyes glowed as, with horrible blasphemies and threats, he broke out, reviling the two alleged informers.
“Frame-up!” he snarled. “Yes! ... on me an’ yu’. Why, this very beef here was for ’em, while they was up cached in the bush. Feller was a-goin’ to foller ’em up with it in a wagon. I won’t be th’ only one to get double-crossed, as yu’ll find. Yu’ll be gettin’ one o’ th’ worst falls yu’ ever got in yore natural if yu’ turn this whisper o’ mine down now. Well, I’ve told yu’, anyways.” And, spent with his rage, he lay back like a man weary of life.
The practical Gallagher glanced up at the slowly descending sun and leapt to his feet.
“Time’s gettin’ on,” he said. “I don’t figure on losin’ that beef, anyways.... It’s a-stiffenin’ up a’ready.”
And, picking up Shorty’s knife, with practised dexterity, he proceeded to complete what the rustler had begun. Ellis, outwardly nonchalant, but seething inwardly with excitement at the news, the truth of which was confirmed unhesitatingly by a certain native intuition he possessed, lent him a hand at intervals and, presently, with the aid of the block-and-tackle and a lariat on one of the saddle-horses, the two sides of roughly dressed beef were slung up to a branch of the big cottonwood tree, well out of reach of the coyotes.