“We must stop this murderous business,” remarked Buell Hampton.
“And get hold of Bud Bledsoe before he can do further harm,” suggested Grant Jones. “Let’s hunt up the sheriff.”
“Now, just go slow, g’nlemen, please,” replied Jim, expectorating an inconvenient mouthful of tobacco juice and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Jist you leave this business to me. I’ve been prognosticatin’ trouble for months back, an’ know jist how to act. No sheriff is wanted—at least not the bum sheriff we’ve got at the present time. He needs no warnin’ from us—mark my words. And even if he didn’t chance to know what we might be tellin’ him, when he did know, it would be his pertic’lar business to arrive after the killin’—that’s politics. Do you git me, Major?”
“I’m afraid I get you all right, Jim,” replied Buell Hampton gravely.
“Well, let us go and see Ben Bragdon,” proposed Roderick.
“Not on your life,” replied Jim excitedly. “Hell, man, he’s the attorney fur the cattle fellers.”
“He is a gentleman,” exclaimed Roderick, “and if he is the attorney for the cow men, so much the better. He would advise the bosses of this contemplated lawbreaking raid and murder, and of course they would immediately take steps to keep the cowboys from committing such wickedness.”
Jim Rankin’s black eyes fairly snapped as he looked Roderick straight in the face and exclaimed: “Roderick, are yer as big a tenderfoot as that? Don’t yer know the cowboys don’t go out murderin’ uv their own accord on these here cut-throat raids? They go, by gunnies, ‘cause they’re paid by the higher ups ter do these dastardly killin’ acts. Why, gosh ‘lmighty, Ben Bragdon draws a monthly retainer fee uv several figures ter protect the higher ups an’ there yer are, plain as a handle on a gourd. No, by gunnies, while the Major and Mr. Jones keep guard here, you an’ me, Roderick, will have ter go alone an’ jist nachurally take the law into our own hands. We’ll have plenty uv shootin’ irons an’ loco the cowboys by shootin’ an’ wingin’ two or three uv ‘em, Bud Bledsoe in pertic’lar. Oh, you bet I know how to do this job,” and he chuckled reassuringly.
“Well, I don’t,” replied Roderick. “I don’t pretend to know these cold-blooded murdering ways of the West or anything of this lawless feud that is going on between the cattlemen and the sheep men. However, I will go with you, Jim. When shall we start?”
“Immediately after supper. There’s no moon and it looks a little squally. It will be darker than a stack of black cats, but by gunnies, I know the way. All you’ve got to do is to have yer shootin’ irons ready, follow me and shoot when I shoot Now I guess there’s no need my onbosomin’ myself any more,” he added with a comprehensive glance around.