UNDER THE RIDGE
At day's end, some forty-eight hours after parting with Johnny Ramsay and Chuck Morgan, Loudon and Laguerre rode up to the Bar S line-camp on Pack-saddle Creek. Hockling and Red Kane were unsaddling.
"Hello, rustler!" bawled Red Kane. "Don't yuh know no better'n to come fussin' round me when I'm broke? There's two hundred dollars reward for yuh."
"Howdy, Red," said Loudon, grinning. "Hello, Hock. Shake hands with my friend, Mr. Laguerre. Telescope, these here bandits are Mr. Hockling an' Mr. Kane—Red for short. Boys, did I hear yuh say two hundred? Well, that shore makes me plumb ashamed. A thousand ain't none too much for a road-agent like me."
"Yo're right it ain't," laughed Hockling. "But say, Tom, no jokin', yesterday Red an' me cut the trail o' six deputies—yeah, some o' that Farewell crowd—an' they was a-huntin' for yuh. It was them told us about the reward."
"Where'd yuh meet 'em?" questioned Loudon.
"Down on the Lazy. They was ridin' east."
"Headin' for the Cross-in-a-box likely."
"Dunno as they'll go that far. From what they said I guess now they think yo're either on this range or holin' out in the Fryin' Pans. Red asked 'em didn't they need some more men—said six gents didn't seem none too plenteous for the job. They got kind o' mad, but they managed to hawg-tie their tempers. I dunno why."
"No, yuh don't!" chuckled Red Kane. "Why, gents, Hock had his Winchester across his horn an' was a-coverin' 'em the whole time. Quarrelsome feller, that Hock. Just as soon shoot yuh as say howdy."