Ranching -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; Western stories
On their right the country had grown noticeably rougher. Here and there
low spurs from the near-by western hills thrust out into the flat prairie,
and deep shadows which marked the opening of draw or gully loomed up
frequently. It was from one of these, about half a mile south of the hut,
that a voice issued suddenly, halting the two riders abruptly by the
curtness of its snarling menace.
"Hands up!"
Buck obeyed promptly, having learned from experience the futility of
trying to draw on a person whose very outlines are invisible. Jessup's
hands went up, too, and then dropped quickly to his sides again.
"Why, it's Slim!" he cried, and spurred swiftly toward the mouth of the
gully. "What the deuce is the matter?" he asked anxiously. "What's
happened to Rick?"
There was a momentary pause, and then McCabe stepped out of the shadows,
six-gun in one hand.
"What the devil are yuh doin' here?" he demanded with a harshness which
struck Buck in curious contrast to his usual air of good humor. "Who's
that with yuh?"
"Only Green. We--we got worried, an' saddled up an'--followed yuh. When we
heard the shots--What _did_ happen to Rick, Slim? We caught his horse out
there, the saddle all--"
"Since yuh gotta know," snapped the puncher, "he got a hole drilled
through one leg. He's right here behind me."
As Bud flung himself out of the saddle and hurried over to the man lying
just inside the gully, McCabe stepped swiftly to the side of Stratton's
horse. There was a mingling of doubt and sharp suspicion in the upturned
face.
"Yuh sure are up an' doin' for a new hand," he commented swiftly. "Was it
yuh put it into his head to come out here?"
"I reckon maybe it was," returned Buck easily. "When we woke up an' found
you all gone, the kid got fretting considerable about his friend here, and
I didn't see why we shouldn't ride out and join you. According to my mind,
when you're out after rustlers, the more the merrier."
"Huh! He told yuh we was after rustlers?"
"Sure. Why not? It ain't any secret, is it? Leastwise, I didn't gather
that from Bud."
McCabe's face relaxed. "Wal, I dunno as 't is," he shrugged. "Tex likes to
run things his own way, though. Still, I dunno as there's any harm done.
Truth is, we didn't get started soon enough. We was half a mile off when
we heard the shot, an' rid up to find Rick drilled through the leg an' the
thieves beatin' it for the mountains. The rest of the bunch lit out after
'em while I stayed with Rick. I dunno as they caught any of 'em, but I
reckon they didn't have time to run off no cattle."
Stratton slid out of the saddle and threw the reins over the roan's head.
He had not failed to notice the slight discrepancy in McCabe's statement
as to the length of time it took the punchers to ride from the bunk-house
to this spot, but he made no comment.
"Bemis hurt bad?" he asked.
"Not serious. It's a clean wound in his thigh. I got it tied up with his
neckerchief."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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