“Maybe he’s tryin’ to outstay us. He’s got pretty good feed up there. He shifted the line a little to the west, but not very much. It kinda looks like he wanted to swing west, but don’t want to do it too openly. I’d like to get my hands on him.”
“What would the cattlemen do to him, Hodges?”
“If they caught him? Well, I don’t know what they’d do. He’s been hated in this valley for so long that the cattlemen would probably declare a holiday and hang him higher than a kite.”
“Then it would be a continual fight, even if he did get a foothold in here, eh?”
“You bet. There’d be plenty of killin’ as long as a sheep remained, Hartley.”
They went out of the restaurant and down to the Totem Saloon. It was a little too early in the morning for much activity. None of them wanted a drink, so they sat down at a card table to smoke and talk. Swampers were engaged in mopping up the floors, while the bartender polished glasses and put the bar in shape for the day’s work.
A swamper went out, carrying two big empty buckets. He stopped on the edge of the sidewalk and stared down the street. After several moments he turned and came back into the saloon.
“The sheriff must ’a’ caught somebody,” he announced. “They’re takin’ several people into the office.”
Hashknife, Sleepy and Hodges hurried to the doorway. There were several saddled horses in front of the office, and Gene Hill was talking with Sunshine.
“Better go down and have a look,” suggested Hashknife, and they moved across the street, heading for the office.