"Got a rustler, I see," he observed dryly, his lips crinkled in a sneering smile.
"Yuh see wrong—as usual," said Loudon. "Some friend o' yores shot Johnny."
"Friend o' mine? Who?" queried the sheriff, his manner one of mild interest.
"Wish I knew. Thought yuh might be able to tell me. Ain't that what yuh come here for?"
"Ramsay's shot—that's all we know," interposed Mr. Saltoun, hastily. "An' there's a cow an' calf o' mine over yonder. Skinned, both of 'em."
"An' the cow had been branded through a wet blanket," said Loudon, not to be fobbed off. "The Bar S was underneath an' the 88 was on top. Johnny an' me found the dead cow an' the live calf yesterday. I left Johnny here an' rode in to the Bar S. When we got here we found Johnny shot an' the cow an' calf skinned. What do you guess?"
"I don't guess nothin'," replied the sheriff. "But it shore looks as if rustlers had been mighty busy."
"Don't it?" said Loudon with huge sarcasm. "I guess, now——"
"Say, look here, Sheriff," interrupted Mr. Saltoun, anxious to preserve peace, "I ain't makin' no charges against anybody. But this rustlin' has got to stop. I can't afford to lose any more cows. Do somethin'. Yo're sheriff."
"Do somethin'!" exclaimed the Sheriff. "Well, I like that! What can I do? I can't be in forty places at once. Yuh talk like I knowed just where the rustlers hang out."