“Gents,” he said slowly. “I can’t say yes to that. You all know that I’ve sworn to uphold the law; and the law has given the sheep the same right as cattle. Legally, we don’t own but a small portion of Lo Lo range; morally, we do. I’m as much of a cowman as you fellers, but first of all, I’m the sheriff.”
“That’s all right,” said Hartwell. “You’re not against us, Sudden?”
“O-o-oh, —— no! I’m just showin’ yuh that it won’t be my vote that turns —— loose in these hills. And she’s goin’ to be ——, boys. Eph King is a fighter. He shoved that mass of sheep over Kiopo Pass, and the —— himself ain’t goin’ to be able to stop him, until every sheepherder is put out of commission and the sheep travelin’ back down the slopes into Sunland Basin.”
“And King’s no fool,” growled Bill Brownlee. “He prob’ly ain’t got no central camp, where we might ride in and bust ’em up quick. Every sheepherder goes it alone. King is prob’ly back there somewhere, directin’ ’em.”
“I sure like to notch my sight on him,” said Cloudy McKay of the Arrow. “I got a bullet so close to my ear today that it plumb raised a blister. And any of you fellers that ride that dead-line better look out. Them shepherds lay close in the brush, and they can shoot, don’tcha forget it. Our best bet is to leave our broncs in a safe place, and play Injun.”
“There’s wisdom there,” nodded Sam Hodges. “Eph King hasn’t got ordinary sheepherders in charge of that outfit. He can hire trigger fingers and pay ’em their price. He’s got more men up there right now than we can throw against him, and he’s ready for battle.
“We better shove our men in close to that line before daylight, Hartwell. Spread ’em out, hide ’em in the brush. It looks —— nice to see a long string of mounted punchers, but a man on a horse up there will prove that he’s a cattleman, a legitimate target for a shepherd. My idea is: Fight ’em with their own medicine.”
“Suits me fine.” Old Frank Hall picked up his hat. “We’re too shy on men to make targets out of ’em. That’s the best idea we’ve had, so let’s go. How’s everybody fixed for ammunition?”
A check of the cartridge belts showed that every man had enough for his immediate needs.
“I’ll throw a chuck wagon into Six-Mile Gulch,” stated Hartwell, “and we can feed in relays. If this lasts very long, we can throw another into the head of Brush Cañon; so that we won’t have to draw the men too far away from the line.