“We rode beyond the breaks,” Musical told Big Medicine. “As far as we can see, everythin’ is all right. There wasn’t many cows over on that side. From up on that saw-tooth ridge yuh can almost see the Rancho Sierra.”
Big Medicine nodded and turned to Sleepy.
“This Rancho Sierra is across the border. Belongs to old Steve Guadalupe, the meanest old Mexican that ever stole a cow. We have to keep our eyes open all the time, Stevens. They’ve raided us a few times.”
“Yuh can’t get ’em back after they cross the line, eh?”
“Not very well. Our business is to keep them far enough on this side to make it hard for them to grab very many. Guadalupe has a tough gang down there, rustlers, smugglers, and all that kind of folks.”
“I wonder if it was some of his gang that held us up the other night,” said Sleepy.
Big Medicine frowned heavily, but said nothing.
“Hell, yuh don’t have to go into Mexico to find holdup men,” said Cleve Davis. “There’s plenty of ’em on this side of the line. I’ve got a hunch that it was white men from this side of the line that stole the last bunch of cattle from us.”
“That K-10 outfit?” began Musical, but Big Medicine stopped him with a gesture.
“Name no names, Musical, please,” he said softly. “There is bad blood between this ranch and the K-10, and the least said the better. Give them the benefit of the doubt, until we are sure.”