“Wait a minute,” said Marsh, turning to Allison. “You were with Slim De Larimore, Allison, when these shots were fired.”
“That’s right,” Allison nodded quickly. “Al Curt rode down here to see if you knew what it was about. There sure was a lot of shootin’ goin’ on. We thought it was a battle somewhere along the line.”
“Do you suppose they ran into a bunch of sheepherders?” asked Sam Hodges.
“I don’t know,” Marsh Hartwell shook his head. “It was behind our lines, and I’d hate to think that the sheepmen could seep through that way, Sam. And if they were down here, why start a battle with two men, who were merely ridin’ along, mindin’ their own business?”
“Queer,” declared Sam Hodges. “In fact, it would take a lawyer to figure it out. Where’s Matt Hale?”
“He beat it for home,” laughed a cowboy. “As soon as Matt got outside he fogged out.”
“That six-gun made him nervous, I guess,” laughed Sam. “It made me nervous, too. If I’m any judge of human nature, that long-geared puncher would shoot at the drop of the hat, and drop it himself.”
“Yeah, he’s a gunman,” agreed the sheriff. “They both are. And what would two gunmen be doin’ around in a strange country, I ask yuh?”
“Which don’t get a rational answer from anybody,” said Honey Wier disgustedly. “It’s time we went back to the seat of war and gave the rest of the boys a chance to grab a cup of coffee.”
“That’s about right,” agreed Marsh Hartwell. “We’ll let the sheriff grieve over his lost horse, while we protect our own.”