"It doesn't seem reasonable that they'd poison cattle," and Dick shook his head. "What good would dead ones be to them? They can't be sold, and it wouldn't pay to kill 'em just for the hides."
"No, that's so," admitted Nort. "But they evidently want to keep us out of that glen, and drive us away from the ranch if possible, so they can have it for themselves."
"Part of that seems like to be true," spoke Billee, taking a part in the discussion. "But this isn't the first time there have been queer doings at Dot and Dash. Years ago I'm pretty sure there was no band of devils up here with cylinders of gas. This is something new."
"Tell me, Billee," resumed Nort, "on what sections of the ranch did most of the deaths occur—I mean when you worked here?"
"Well," and the veteran scratched his head reflectively, "as near as I can remember they was all somewhere near this glen, come to think of it."
"And this is where Sam Tarbell's horse was killed and where Sam was knocked out—near this glen; wasn't it?" went on Nort.
"That's true enough."
"And it's from this glen that Bud got his dose of poison gas and where, just now, we got ours; isn't it?"
"Sure," Billee was forced to say.
"Well, then," went on Nort, "isn't it reasonable to suppose that this band—or some bunch like it—has been doing this right along?"