He lounged
loosely in the saddle.
There was a sinister light in his eyes, a lurking threat in his manner.
"What outfit is this?" he demanded.
"Circle L, from Wolf River," answered Blackburn.
"Where you headin'?"
"To Red Rock."
"Railroad out of business?" jeered the outlaw.
"Far as the Circle L is concerned, it is, Antrim," smiled Blackburn. "We
had a fuss, an' quit 'em."
The outlaw peered intently at the other. Then he grinned.
"It's Andy Blackburn!" he said. "Glad to meet you, Blackburn. This seems
like old times--before the railroad went through; when old Luke Lawler
used to jam 'em to Red Rock--sometimes--when he didn't pick up too many
strays on the way." He laughed as though pleased over the recollection.
"Got this stock vented, Blackburn?"
"Nary a vent, Antrim; the inspector wasn't feelin' in the humor."
"Ha!" exclaimed Antrim; "so you didn't get no vent. Well, we're aimin'
to look through your herd. We've been missin' cattle all summer--from my
ranch, the Circle Bar. About three thousand head. We've traced 'em as
far as Kinney's canon, an' lost 'em. But we've been thinkin', Blackburn,
that it ain't no hard job to make a passable Circle L out of a Circle
Bar. That's why we aim to look your cattle over."
He grinned slightly at Blackburn's scowl, aware of the impotent rage the
latter felt over the worst insult that could be offered an honest
cattleman.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157