“Well, let’s get on with the meetin’,” said Vane impatiently. “You were talkin’, Slim.”
“And that’s all he was doin’,” said Sunshine. “Slim is jist like a dictionary. He talks a little about this and a little about that, and the —— stuff don’t connect. What we want is an agreement on some move, it seems to me.”
“Sunshine’s got the right idea,” agreed Hodges. “Too much talk. If anybody has a real suggestion, let ’em outline it. You ought to have one, Hartwell.”
Marsh Hartwell shook his head.
“It will be impossible to wipe them out now. The only thing to do will be to make a solid dead-line and hold ’em where they are until the feed plays out and they have to go back. The feed ain’t none too good up there now, and if it don’t rain they can’t stay long.”
“How many men will it take to hold that line, Marsh?” asked Vane.
“They’re spread over a two-mile front now. Figure it out. They’ve got about twenty-five herders, all armed with rifles. I look for ’em to spread plumb across the range, and the —— himself couldn’t stop ’em from tricklin’ in.”
“Which ruins the idea of a solid dead-line,” said Hodges dryly. “Who has a worse idea than that?”
The sheriff got to his feet, but before he could state his proposition there came a noise at the front door. Jack sprang to his feet and flung the door open, while in came Honey Wier, half-carrying, half-dragging old Ed Barber, who had been the keeper of the Kiopo Pass.
The old man was blood-stained, clothes half torn from his body, his face chalky in the light of the lamp. One of the men sprang up and let Honey place the old man in an easy chair, while the rest crowded around, questioning, wondering what had happened to him.