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"Nothin' in there," he said, as he reappeared, "but somebody's been here this mornin'." And he pointed to the imprint of a high-heeled boot in the sand of the yard. "Which way did he ride?" asked Houck, indicating the footprint. The old herder shook his head. "Quien sabe?" he grunted, shrugging his shoulders. "Who knows, eh? Well, you know for one.
"Well, damn you, Texas man, I w-want to t-tell you right now that you're talkin' blasphemy when you say you're n-no good. The good Lord made you, didn't He? D-d' you reckon I'm goin' to let you stand up there an' claim He did a pore job? No, sir. Trouble with you is you go an' bury yore talent instead of w-whalin' the stuffin' outa that Jake Houck fellow."
Not waiting for orders, a dozen punchers instantly gave chase. The rest of the party followed. Houck was in the lead. Not far behind was Bob Dillon. The mesa bench dropped sharply down a bare shale scarp to the willows growing near the river. The Indian camp below could be seen from the edge of the bluff.
"Any kid that's got nerve enough to down Steve has got a right to git away with it. If you corner him he's goin' to fight and git bumped off by a bunch of growed men mebby four to one. That ain't my style." Houck turned to several cowboys who had not spoken. They were Gary's friends, of his kind in a measure. "How is it, boys?" asked Houck. "We stick," said one, and the others nodded.
"Comes as natural as breathin' to him. We trailed a hoss to this here wickiup" the hot lust of the man-hunt was in the cowboy's eyes as he swung down "and we aim to see who was ridin' him!" Houck and his three companions sat their horses as the fourth member of the posse shouldered the old Indian aside and entered the shack.
Houck himself discovered Andy White's tracks leading from the spot where Gary had been found, and calling the others together, set off across the eastern mesa.
A moment of blank silence fell on the little group crouched among the boulders. Bob's statement that he had to go back through the fire zone to Houck had fallen among them like a mental bombshell. Blister was the first to find his voice. "You been down there l-lookin' after him?" "Yes. They hit him in the leg twice. An' once in the side. He's outa his head. I got him water from the river."
They saw one or two people a woman with a basket of eggs, a barefoot boy returning home from after-supper play. June carried the burden of the talk because she was quicker-witted than Houck. Its purpose was to deceive anybody who might happen to be looking at them. It chanced that some one was looking at them. He was a young man who had been lying on the grass stargazing.
"Jake Houck," Bob whispered to Dud. "Who's boss of this outfit?" the big man demanded of Blister after he had swung from the saddle. "Harshaw. You'll find him over there with the cavvy." Houck straddled across to the remuda. "Lookin' for men to fight the Utes?" he asked brusquely of the owner of the Slash Lazy D brand. "Yes, sir."
He sweated blood while the Indians squatted before the fire and came to a decision. The council did not last long. When it broke up Houck braced his will to face what he must. It would not be long now. Soon he would know the worst. Two of the braves went up the hill toward the cavvy. The rest came back to their captive. They stood beside him in silence. Houck scowled up at them, still defiant.
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