The Rider of Golden Bar Part 17

"I seem to remember those bandits giving me the chase of my young life," he remarked, nodding his head. "I don't know why. I don't know why my unknown friend with the six-shooter and my other equally unknown friend with the scatter-gun are holding them up, but I'm glad they're doing it. Still, why? Why all this fuss and these feathers?"

"I don't know either," replied Billy, continuing to watch Rafe Tuckleton and his men like the proverbial hawk, "but we hope to find out. When a couple of friends of mine get here, we aim to find out."

CHAPTER SIX

CROSS-PURPOSES

"... and my name is John Dawson," continued the stranger, "and I'm on my way to visit my uncle at Jacksboro."

"Uncle! Jacksboro!" exclaimed Jonesy. "Pretty smooth and thin."

Tom Walton took no notice of Jonesy. "Where'd you work last?"

"Cross T in Redstone County."

Tom Walton nodded. "Turberville ranch? Left ribs cattle, left shoulder and jaw horses?"

"No, Tasker's," corrected John Dawson. "Left hip cattle and horses, no jaw brand."

"I know," said Tom Walton gently. "I knew it was Tasker's. I had to--be sure."

"Whatsa use of this ga.s.sing?" demanded Rafe. "I tell you, Tom, we caught this feller branding one of my calves, and I'll gamble he's the boy been doing all the rustling on your range too."

"You might be right. I don't know. But he tells a straight story."

"They all do. He's a rustler. Take my word for it."

"But he said in the beginning," objected Tom, "that he never was near that split draw."

"We saw him, I tell you!"

"All right. Soon as we eat, we'll all ride over to the draw and take a squint at the evidence."

"What for? Ain't my word enough?"

"I don't believe in gamblin' with a man's life," said Tom smoothly.

"Better be sure than sorry," said Billy.

"I won't be sorry none to hang him, the cow thief!"

"If I had my gun I'd argue that with you," remarked the prisoner pleasantly.

Rafe was understood to d.a.m.n all creation. Oh, he was wild.

"Dinner!" called Hazel from the kitchen door.

"Too bad the sheriff ain't here," grumbled Rafe, on the way to the house.

"It is too bad," Tom Walton flung over his shoulder. "But I sent Roy for Sam Prescott. He'll meet us on the Hillsville trail."

Roy was the half of his outfit. The Walton ranch was a little one.

Even in big seasons Tom could not afford to employ more than three men.

In winter he let them all go. What little work there was to be done he managed to do himself. Small rancher though he was, Tom Walton was not a nonent.i.ty in the community. Folk trusted him. He was known to be honest.

After dinner the whole party, excepting Hazel, took horse and rode down the draw to the Hillsville trail. Rafe and his outfit would have ridden to the trail at once. But Billy Wingo carefully shepherded them from it.

"We'll keep off the trail," said Billy. "This Dawson man says he's never been off the trail till he got chased off by you fellers. We may want to examine that trail for tracks later."

The Tuckleton men muttered and swore, but they kept away from the trail. Soon after the party reached the vicinity of the trail, Roy, Sam Prescott and two of his men trotted into sight. Billy rode to meet them and turned them from the trail before they reached the spot where John Dawson said he had left it.

Sam Prescott listened in silence to the respective stories of Rafe Tuckleton and John Dawson. He seemed unimpressed by either. When he had heard all they had to say, he dismounted and examined the hoofs of Dawson's horse. Then he and Riley, closely followed by the others, rode along the edge of the trail scrutinizing the tracks upon its dusty surface.

"Here's where he says he left the trail all right," observed Bill.

"You can't mistake the point of that near fore shoe. He says Tuckleton and his boys rode at him from over yonder, but if they chased him all-away from that split draw like they say they did, there wouldn't be a single track here. They'd all be on the other side of those cottonwoods."

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward said cottonwoods growing about a hundred yards to the south.

"Let's go over yonder where he said they came from," said Sam Prescott.

They all went over yonder. There they found the tracks of five horses.

Not only that, but in a near-by depression behind some red willows they found where five horses had stood a considerable time.

Sam Prescott picked up in turn the hoofs of every Tuckleton horse.

"These five horses were standing here at least two hours," remarked Sam Prescott, staring at Rafe.

The latter said nothing. Really, there was nothing to say.

Led by Sam Prescott and Billy, the party followed the tracks of these five horses back to the trail and into the draw leading to the Walton ranch.

"You see," said Billy to Sam Prescott. "Those horses were coming on the dead jump. It's just like Dawson says. They were chasing him."

Although Billy's voice was loud enough for all to hear, none of the Tuckleton outfit took it upon himself to deny the statement. It may be said that they were growing a trifle discouraged.

"Le's go to the split draw," resumed Billy, when Sam Prescott had openly agreed with him. "Maybe we'll find that calf and the fire and the running-iron. But I expect that fire will be out by this time."

"I guess likely." Thus Sam Prescott, and turned his horse.

But they did not find the calf and the extinct fire and the running-iron. There was nothing in the split draw even remotely resembling any of these.

"Come to think of it," said Rafe, weakly attempting a last defense, "maybe it was another draw."

"Maybe it was," admitted Sam, turning to young Dawson. "Maybe it was, but I'm satisfied it wasn't. It was a good thing for you, young feller, that Billy Wingo and Riley Tyler were on the spot when your horse fell."