They mounted and went down across the brushy hills, fourteen strong, well-mounted, heavily armed, looking for trouble.
And about the time that the fourteen men rode away from the sheep camp, Marsh Hartwell and his son rode away from the chuck wagon in Six Mile gulch. The cattlemen had decided to wait until nine o’clock before starting their offensive, taking a chance that Hashknife’s scheme, whatever it might be, would work out.
About a mile south of the camp they met the sheriff and Sunshine, who were seeking the latest news. They got it. Sudden rubbed his nose until it looked like an over-ripe cherry.
“By ——, I’ve been expectin’ this!” declared Sunshine.
“You never expected nothin’,” snorted the sheriff. “Don’t say that yuh have, ’cause yuh haven’t.”
“You don’t know what’s inside my head,” persisted Sunshine.
“The —— I don’t! Just like I know what’s in the hole of a doughnut. Don’t argue with me about anythin’, Sunshine. Lemme think. By grab, this is serious, don’tcha know it? Whole bunch of rustlers, eh? In that old shack down there—hm-m-m! Well,” bravely, “there’s just one thing to do, and that’s to go and heave some lead at ’em.”
“Don’t do it,” advised Marsh quickly. “That would chase ’em away, don’tcha see, Sudden? We’ve got to nail that whole gang at once; put enough men down there to stop every one of ’em, sabe?”
“And let Eph King send his sheep across, eh?”
“We got to take that chance, Sudden.”