It was rather hard for Hashknife to believe that old Moses Conley had cut the fence, herded in those Big 4 steers and shot them down just for revenge. Revenge for what? For something that had happened twenty-five years before. That would be ridiculous presumption. No doubt Conley had fenced in Hot Creek against the Big 4; but that was no crime. He owned the land.
Had some of the Big 4 cut that fence and killed the steers merely to have a reason for starting trouble with Conley? Possible but hardly probable, he decided. Slim Regan was a hard-bitted sort of person, but Hashknife could hardly believe that Slim would do that.
“You’re doin’ a lot of thinkin’,” observed Sleepy.
“Am I?” grinned Hashknife. “It ain’t doin’ me much good. I’m kinda stuck.”
“Glad to hear it. Mebby you’ll quit.”
“I might,” grinned Hashknife.
About a mile out of Turquoise City they met the old doctor, heading back to the Conley place, driving his old sway-backed gray. The two cowboys drew rein beside the road, and the doctor stopped.
“Hyah, Doctor,” smiled Hashknife. “Hear your patient is comin’ along fine.”
“Good enough,” answered the doctor gruffly. “Didn’t talk to him, did you?”
“The little lady wouldn’t let me.”