`Green agrees with me that it ain't Injuns,' said the ranch-owner, `an' I think he's right.'
`So do I,' retorted Blaynes. `If I'd just been took on, an' wanted to hold my job, I'd agree with the boss every time.'
A sneering smile accompanied the words. Green heard the taunt unmoved, his face like granite. Old Simon laughed. `Have it yore way, Blaynes. Yu say it's Injuns. All right, fetch in their scalps, an' I'll believe yu. By the way, Green'll be doin' what I say for a bit. Savvy?'
The foreman nodded, and the two men walked towards the bunkhouse. The foreman was the first to break the silence. `Yu shore are in luck,' he remarked acidly, `to get a fine hoss an' a soft job all in twenty-four hours.'
`Did the Old Man tell yu it was a soft job?' queried Green sweetly.
`That's what I'd call moseyin' around pertendin' to look for rustlers,' retorted Blaynes.
`So would I,' replied the other. `But there ain't no rustlers, so it'll be a hard job to find any. Yore way of it the Injuns are stockin' the Reservation with Y Z cows. Why don't yu pay the agent a visit?'
Blaynes made no reply to this pleasantry. Supper was nearly over when they entered the bunkhouse, but with the foreman there, the harassed cook knew better than to make any fuss over producing fresh supplies. Green soon learned that the news of his treatment of Poker Pete had become known, and had been received variously by the men. Some of the younger did not scruple to hide their hearty approbation.
`On'y hope yu ain't scared 'im off the reservation,' was Dirty's comment. `He owes me money, that hombre.'
`Don't yu worry none,' said one of the older men, whose semi-Indian origin and dark skin had earned for him the name of Nigger.' `If Pete owed a feller anythin', he gets it.'
The speaker directed a malicious glance at Green as he said the words, but the new hand appeared to be entirely occupied with his plate. Nevertheless, he had heard, and sensed that the threat was intended for him.
`Aw, hell! I reckon the old tinhorn will drift,' said another of the younger group, whose name being Simon, found himself promptly re-christened `Simple,' to distinguish him from the Old Man.
The wrangle went on, and it became more and more evident that the disgraced gambler had friends in the outfit. Green refused to be drawn into the discussion. His meal finished, he rolled a cigarette and slipped outside, after a glance at Larry which was an invitation. Strolling down to the corral, he climbed the rail, and sat there smoking. Presently Barton joined him.
`Well, what do yu think o' the bunch?' he asked, when he had perched himself alongside his friend.
`Yu heard the story o' the curate's egg?' asked Green.
`Shore, yu've said it: good in parts,' replied Larry, with a chuckle. `So yu've been elecned to collect the rustlers' ha'r, eh?' `Who told yu?' Green asked quickly.
`Oh, Rattler ain't makin' any secret of it,' was the reply. `I somehow got the idea he don't like yu.'
`I've a dim suspicion myself thataway,' returned the new hand easily; `but I don't guess I'll lose any sleep over it.'
`Wish the Old Man would let me trail along with yu,' Larry said wistfully. `I know the country, an' yu don't; I reckon I'd be useful.'
`Shore yu would, an' if I want any help I'll ask for yu,' Green said. `In the meantime, keep yore eyes an' ears open; it wouldn't surprise me none if the bunkhouse was a good place to look.'
Chapter IV
On the following morning Green saddled the roan and made his way to the spot where he had found the dead cow, intending to take up the trail from there. To his astonishment, he found that the carcass had disappeared, and the original tracks were hopelessly blurred by a number of others leading in all directions.
`They have certainly got quick news of my appointment,' he muttered.
As he sat there surveying the scene in puzzled cogitation, an arrow transfixed his sombrero, snatching it from his head. Instantly he rode straight for the clump of brush from which it seemed to come. He was too late; a crackling in the undergrowth, a shrill whoop, and then the thud of galloping hoofs told him that the hidden assassin had escaped. He returned for his hat and carefully examined the missile.
`Apache, all right, an' a war-shaft at that,' he commented. `But a brave on his first scout wouldn't have missed such an easy mark at that range. No, gents, I ain't right convinced o' that redskin theory even now.'
Behind the bush from which the arrow had come he found the grass trodden down and several cigarette ends; the bushwhacker had clearly waited some time, and had been careless too. The marks of his flight were apparent, and also told a story.
`No, sir, braves don't wear boots in this neck o' the woods,' the cowboy soliloquized.
Leading his horse, he followed the trail for a few hundred yards; then it ceased, and hoof-prints told that the unknown had there mounted and continued his flight over a stretch of hard, rocky ground, which showed no tell-tale tracks. For an hour Green searched painstakingly, bun without success. Then he headed straight across the baffling barrier in the direction of the frowning slopes of the Big Chief Range.
Midday found him traversing some of the wildest country he had ever seen, and he began to realize the magnitude of the task before him. Deep, thickly-wooded valleys, brush-tangled gullies, pine-covered rocky ridges succeeded one another in bewildering confusion, and over all the sullen peaks of the Big Chief towered in solemn majesty.
`It's a man's job, all right,' he said. `I reckon yu could lose an army here, an' not be too awful careless at that.' He plodded on for another hour, and presently emerged on the bank of a little stream beside which stood a rude log shack with a sodded roof from which a trickle of smoke ascended. He had come upon the place so unexpectedly that he could not hope to have escaped observation, so he adopted a bold policy and rode up to the door.
`Hello, the house!' he called.
A man instantly appeared in the doorway, rifle in hand. He was a tough-looking customer, with black beady eyes which scanned the visitor with suspicious care.
`Howdy,' he said, and waited.
`I'm from the Y Z,' Green said, knowing that the brand on his mount had told this already.
`I got eyes,' came the retort. `New hand, I s'pose. Ain't yu strayed off yore range quite a piece?'
`Oh, I reckon I'm lost all right,' laughed Green.
'Light an' eat,' said the other.
The interior of the cabin was as primitive as the outside. A rude, home-made table, two or three stools, and a pallet bed comprised the furniture. A pick, shovel and a gold-digger's pan stood in one corner.
Washin', eh?' Green asked, with a glance at the implements. `Gettin' much?'
`Well, it ain't nothin' to advertise,' the man replied, `but it pays better'n punchin' cows.'
`It don't have to be a bonanza to do that,' laughed the cowboy. `Don't see much company, I reckon.'
'Yo're the first in two weeks,' was the answer.
The meal dispatched, the two men smoked in silence for a while. Then Green remarked casually:
`Redskins bother yu any?'
The man's eyes narrowed for a moment, and there was the barest hesitation before he said, `Naw, I treat 'em right an' mind my own business. Don't see much of 'em: two or three braves now an' then--aimin' to borry a few o' yore steers, I guess; but that's yore lookout.'
`That's so,' agreed Green, joining in the laugh that followed. `Means a job for chaps like me, eh?'
`Shore; puttin' it thataway, the Injun's some good, which I never did expect to think,' grinned the other.
`Preachers say everythin' was made for a purpose, even rattlesnakes, but I'm blamed if I can find any use for them,' Green remarked, and then added casually, `I'm told there's another ranch up here somewhere, the Double X.'
A look of alertness illumined the not-too-clean features of his host for a brief moment, and then he said slowly: `I've heard of it, but I ain't been there; it's way back in the hills, an' I ain't nohow interested in cattle at present.'