"Do yuh mean to say the rustlers elected me?" exploded the sheriff.
"O' course not," chided Loudon, gently. "Now what made yuh think I meant that?"
"Well, yuh said——" began the sheriff.
"I said 'they,'" interrupted Loudon. "You said 'rustlers'. Stay in the saddle, Sheriff. You'll stub your toe sometime if yuh keep on a-travellin' one jump ahead o' the hoss."
"Yo're —— smart for a cow-punch."
"It is a cinch to fool most of 'em, ain't it—especially when yo're a sheriff?"
Loudon's eyes were wide open and child-like in their gray blandness. But the sheriff did not mistake his man. Block knew that if his hand dropped, a bullet would neatly perforate his abdomen. The sheriff was not a coward, but he had sense enough not to force an issue. He could afford to wait.
"I'll see yuh again," said the sheriff, harshly, and strode diagonally down the slope.
Loudon watched him until he vanished among the pines a hundred yards below. Then Loudon touched his horse with the spur and rode on, chin on shoulder, hands busy reloading his six-shooter. Three minutes later Loudon saw the sheriff, mounted on his big black stallion, issue from the wood. The great horse scrambled up the hillside, gained the trail, and headed south.
"Bet he's goin' to the 88," said Loudon. "I'd give ten dollars to know what Block was roostin' behind that rock for. Gawd! I shore would admire to be Sheriff o' Fort Creek County for thirty days!"