be two honest ones in Pecos. Eh? No deals with ranchers who ride in the dark with rustlers! I've a hunch Linrock's full of them.
“Now, Jim, you've been here for years. So you must know a couple of men above suspicion.”
“Thank God I do, Russ,” he replied feelingly. “Frank Morton an' Si Zimmer, my friends an' neighbors all my prosperous days. An' friends still. You can gamble on Frank and Si. But Russ, if you want advice from me, don't invest money in stock now.”
“Why?”
“Because any new feller buyin' stock in Pecos these days will be rustled quicker'n he can say Jack Robinson. The pioneers, the new cattlemen—these are easy pickin'. But the new fellers have to learn the ropes. They don't know anythin' or anybody. An' the old ranchers are wise an' sore. They'd fight if they....”
“What?” I put in as he paused. “If they knew who was rustling the stock?”
“Nope.”
“If they had the nerve?”
“Not thet so much.”
“What then? What'd make them fight?”
“A leader!”
I went out of Hoden's with that word ringing in my ears. A leader! In my mind's eye I saw a horde of dark faced, dusty-booted cattlemen riding grim and armed behind Vaughn Steele.
More thoughtful than usual, I walked on, passing some of my old haunts, and was about to turn in front of a feed and grain store when a hearty slap on my back disturbed my reflection.
“Howdy thar, cowboy,” boomed a big voice.
It was Morton, the rancher whom Jim had mentioned, and whose acquaintance I had made. He was a man of great bulk, with a ruddy, merry face.
“Hello, Morton. Let's have a drink,” I replied.
“Gotta rustle home,” he said. “Young feller, I've a ranch to work.”
“Sell it to me, Morton.”
He laughed and said he wished he could. His buckboard stood at the rail, the horses stamping impatiently.
“Cards must be runnin' lucky,” he went on, with another hearty laugh.
“Can't kick on the luck. But I'm afraid it will change. Morton, my friend Hoden gave me a hunch you'd be a good man to tie to. Now, I've a little money, and before I lose it I'd like to invest it in stock.”
He smiled broadly, but for all his doubt of me he took definite interest.
“I'm not drunk, and I'm on the square,” I said bluntly. “You've taken me for a no-good cow puncher without any brains. Wake up, Morton. If you never size up your neighbors any better than you have me—well, you won't get any richer.”
It was sheer enjoyment for me to make my remarks to these men, pregnant with meaning. Morton showed his pleasure, his interest, but his faith held aloof.
“I've got some money. I had some. Then the cards have run lucky. Will you let me in on some kind of deal? Will you start me up as a stockman, with a little herd all my own?”
“Russ, this's durn strange, comin' from Sampson's cowboy,” he said.
“I'm not in his outfit. My job's with Miss Sampson. She's fine, but the old man? Nit! He's been after me for weeks. I won't last long. That's one reason why I want to start up for myself.”
“Hoden sent you to me, did he? Poor ol' Jim. Wal, Russ, to come out flat-footed, you'd be foolish to buy cattle now. I don't want to take your money an' see you lose out. Better go back across the Pecos where the rustlers ain't so strong. I haven't had more'n twenty-five-hundred head of stock for ten years. The rustlers let me hang on to a breedin' herd. Kind of them, ain't it?”
“Sort of kind. All I hear is rustlers.” I replied with impatience. “You see, I haven't ever lived long in a rustler- run county. Who heads the gang anyway?”
Frank Morton looked at me with a curiously-amused smile.
“I hear lots about Jack Blome and Snecker. Everybody calls them out and out bad. Do they head this mysterious gang?”
“Russ, I opine Blome an' Snecker parade themselves off boss rustlers same as gun throwers. But thet's the love such men have for bein' thought hell. That's brains headin' the rustler gang hereabouts.”
“Maybe Blome and Snecker are blinds. Savvy what I mean, Morton? Maybe there's more in the parade than just the fame of it.”
Morton snapped his big jaw as if to shut in impulsive words.
“Look here, Morton. I'm not so young in years even if I am young west of the Pecos. I can figure ahead. It stands to reason, no matter how damn strong these rustlers are, how hidden their work, however involved with supposedly honest men—they can't last.”
“They come with the pioneers an' they'll last as long as thar's a single steer left,” he declared.
“Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figure you as one of the rustlers!”
Morton looked as if he were about to brain me with the butt of his whip. His anger flashed by then as
