They rode due east from the sheep camp, staying well above the dead-line. Their horses were fagged from the long ride up the slopes; so they took things easy now. Sleepy did not question Hashknife, but wondered at the reason for the wide swing of the country. It was almost sundown when they came down Deer Creek and swung west again to pass the Turkey Track ranch.
There was no sign of life about the ranch, and they did not stop. A smoke was lazily drifting from the kitchen stovepipe, but that was the only evidence of recent occupation. They came back on to the old road, leading toward Jack Hartwell’s place. Hashknife studied it closely and finally drew rein.
A coyote trotted out of a thick clump of brush below the road, looked them over for a moment and disappeared like a puff of gray-blue smoke. Hashknife reined his horse around and rode down to where the coyote had come out of the brush.
An offensive odor assailed their nostrils, coming, it seemed, from the tangle of brush. Hashknife dismounted and led his horse in through a natural trail to where he discovered the body of a horse, partly eaten by coyotes. Sleepy followed him in, and together they examined the animal. There was a brand mark on its right shoulder, which showed a well marked JN.
“That’s the horse you downed that night,” said Hashknife. “It’s a wonder to me that they didn’t cut out that brand.”
They went out of the brush, mounted and rode on toward Jack Hartwell’s place, keeping a close watch on all sides. They knew this to be hostile territory, and did not care to run into trouble. Their horses were too tired to show much speed, and the two riders were red eyed from lack of sleep.
They rode in at Jack Hartwell’s place and dismounted. The front door was open, but there was no one in sight.
“Looks kinda queer around here,” said Hashknife, as he looked in through the doorway.
There was an upset table in the center of the room, a smashed vase and a litter of odds and ends on the carpet. A rocking-chair, with one arm broken off, leaned drunkenly against the wall, and a window on the east side of the room, looked as if some one had shoved an elbow through the pane.
“Holy gee!” whistled Sleepy, as they surveyed the wreckage. “They must pulled off a wrestlin’ match, when they arrested King and Jack.”