“An’ ther ombray thet we heerd a yellin’,” went on the trapper, “he ain’t eround, nuther. Must be he took ter his heels as soon as Thunderbolt begun payin’ attention ter us.” “The man was on foot,” said the scout, indicating boot-tracks in the trail. “I don’t blame him for taking to his heels. I’d have done the same, if I’d been in his place. Still, the fellow might crawl out of his crevice and say something to us, I should think. If we hadn’t interfered, the longhorn would have charged him again.” “Ther feller shot at ther maverick oncet. I heerd the bark of er gun.” “So did I. But what good is a revolver against Red Thunderbolt? There’s not enough powder back of a revolver bullet to get it through the longhorn’s hide. I’m beginning to understand, now, why Thunderbolt has made such a big impression on the Brazos cattlemen.” “Same hyar.” Nomad lifted himself in his stirrups and made a trumpet of his hands; then he yelled for the missing man who had faced the steer on foot, and fired the revolver. No answer was returned. “Don’t bother, Nick,” said the scout. “The fellow couldn’t have been hurt very much, seeing that he was able to use his legs and get away. We’ll ride on to Hackamore.” The pards thereupon continued their journey in the direction of town. The coming interview with Bloom was delicate business. Diplomacy would be necessary--diplomacy, backed by nerve. As peacemaker, however, the scout felt that a truce must be patched up with Bloom. Nate Dunbar was in Hackamore, hiring cowboys and buying supplies for the ranch. He had gone on this errand once before, only to be interrupted by a plot of Benner’s that had well-nigh turned out disastrously. “How ye goin’ erbout et ter tork with Bloom?” asked Old Nomad, as he and the scout galloped onward, stirrup to stirrup. “We’ve got to handle him with gloves, I reckon,” answered the scout. “He ort ter be handled with the buckskin end of er quirt,” growled the trapper. “That’s right, Nick. But now that Benner has been properly disciplined, I’m in hopes that Bloom will see things differently. We can’t leave this part of Texas until we patch up a peace between Bloom and the ranchers at the Star-A. There must be peace all up and down the Brazos when we leave the river.” “I’m more of er hand fer distarbin’ ther peace, Buffler, than fer makin’ et. Thar’s er heap more excitement in diggin’ up the hatchet than in buryin’ et.” “Bosh!” laughed the scout. “Nick, you and I never went into a job yet without having for our end and aim the establishment of peace and security. Drastic measures are sometimes necessary in order to smooth the kinks out of law and order.”