“Good!”
“All right, Bill,” said King firmly. “I reckon you’re right. Down there in Lo Lo Valley the women have used my name to scare their kids, and they’ve mistreated my little girl.”
He turned away and started down across the hills, his lips shut tightly. Then:
“I don’t owe ’em anythin’, but by ——, I’m not goin’ to have anybody stealin’ in my name—makin’ me blacker than I am. Tell the boys to get their horses, Bill. We’re goin’ across that dead-line to help the people that hate us.” He turned to Hashknife, a whimsical sort of smile on his big face. “I reckon this kinda fits in with that idea of turnin’ the other cheek, Hartley.”
“Sometimes it helps, King,” said Hashknife. “I’ve never lost much by helpin’ an enemy.”
“I never did help one,” said King slowly. “Marsh Hartwell is the only real enemy I ever had. We were friends once, me and Marsh. But I reckon we both wanted to be the big man of Lo Lo Valley, and one of us had to quit.
“The country was new then, Hartley, and we were a rough gang. There wasn’t any law and order, and the man with the longest rope got the biggest herd. Mebbe—” He smiled softly— “my rope was longer than Marsh’s and he got jealous. Anyway, I went out with the brand of thief. Bill is gettin’ the boys together, so we better get ready.”
They turned and walked back to the camp, where men were shoving rifles into their scabbards and saddling horses, which they were bringing out of the brushy cañon above the camp. And there was a grin of anticipation on the faces of these sheepmen. They were tired of inaction. King glanced at Hashknife and Sleepy’s saddles, and called Steen’s attention to the fact that neither of them carried a rifle.
Steen handed each of them a rifle and a belt filled with cartridges.
“Noonan travels with a tough gang,” he told them. “Boomer Bates was one of his men. I can see the whole plot now. King didn’t want to believe it, but he does now. C’mon.”