"I only fired three shots," observed Loudon, the muzzle of his six-shooter bearing on the pit of the sheriff's stomach.
The sheriff's right thumb rehooked itself hurriedly. His frame relaxed.
"Yuh shouldn't get mad over a joke," continued Loudon. "It's plumb foolish. Been hidin' behind that rock long?"
"I wasn't hidin' behind it. I was down in the draw, an' I seen you a-readin' the notice, an' I come up."
Loudon's gray eyes twinkled. He knew that the sheriff lied. He knew that Block had heard his comments on Blakely and his own worshipful person, but evidently the sheriff did not consider this an opportune time for taking umbrage.
"So yuh come up, did yuh? Guess yuh thought it was one o' the rustlers driftin' in to see what reward was out for him, didn't yuh? But don't get downhearted. Maybe one'll come siftin' along yet. Why don't yuh camp here, Sheriff? It'll be easier than ridin' the range for 'em, an' a heap healthier. Now, Sheriff, remember what I said about gettin' red-headed. Say, between friends, an' I won't tell even the little hoss, who do you guess is doin' the rustlin'?"
"If I knowed," growled the sheriff, "his name'd be wrote on the notice."
"Would it? I was just wonderin'. Habit I got."
"Don't you fret none about them rustlers. I'll get 'em if it takes ten years."
"Make it twenty, Sheriff. They'll keep right on electin' yuh."