“He is sleeping now, I think,” said Roderick to the nurse as he passed quietly out of the ward.
CHAPTER XXII.—THE TRAGEDY AT JACK CREEK
AFTER a brief consultation on the hospital veranda, Buell Hampton, Roderick and Grant decided on an immediate consultation with Jim Rankin. They found the ex-sheriff busy among the horses down at the brush stable over the hill from the Major’s home.
Jim received the startling news with great complacency.
“I’ve been expectin’ tumultuous news o’ this kind for quite a while,” he said. “Oh, I’m up to all the didoes o’ both the cowpunchers and the sheep herders. Never mind how I got to know them things. I just know ‘em, and that’s ‘nuff said, good and plenty, for all present. If the cowpunchers are going to Jack Creek tonight, there will be hell a-poppin’.”
“Not murder, surely?” exclaimed Roderick.
“Wal, there’s no sayin’ how them things end,” replied Jim. “You see it’s this way. The cowpunchers claim they’re afeard the sheep’ll cross over Jack Creek, an’ they’ll go armed with great big clubs as well as shootin’ irons. They’ll undertake, I’m ‘lowin’, ter kill with their dubs a whole lot o’ sheep, maybe the hull kit an’ bilin’ uv ‘em, shoot up the mess wagons where the sheep herders are sleepin’, an’ the chances are nine outer ten that they’ll kill the herders an’ then jist nachur’ly burn the wagons an’ the corpses, kill the shepherd dogs too an’ throw them on ter the fire and generally do a hellish piece uv intimidatin’ work. They’ll burn the wagons ter hide evidence uv their guilt. You bet they’ll git keerless with their artillery.”
“Good God!” murmured Roderick in horror and surprise.