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"In a cave the other side of town. They're just beyond the big bend of the river. I'll take you there." "You've seen 'em." "No." Goodheart hesitated just a moment before he went on. "I was sent by the person who has seen 'em." "Listens to me like a plant," jeered Yankie. "Meanin' that I'm a liar?" asked Goodheart coldly. "I wasn't born yesterday. Come clean. Who is yore friend that saw the boys?"
The boy was either a man out of a thousand or he was a first-class bluffer. He claimed to have cut Indian sign and to know exactly what was written there. At a single glance he had sized up Prince and knew him for a reliable side partner. Without any bluster he had served notice on Yankie that it would be dangerous to pick on him as the butt of his ill-temper.
My sister gave me a book to read onct. It was 'most twenty years ago. The name of it was 'Ivanhoe. I told her I would save it to read when I broke my laig. Looks like I never will git that book read." By daybreak the outfit was on the move. Yankie trailed the cattle out to the plain and started them forward leisurely. Webb had allowed himself plenty of time for the drive.
I'll leave him in charge of this bunch of stock overnight on. the berrendo. He'll run like a scared deer at the first shot. Hustle the beeves over the pass an' keep 'em movin' till you come to Lost Cache." Crouched over the blanket, they discussed details and settled them. Yankie rose to leave and Roush followed him to his horse. "Don't git a notion I'm scared of Albeen, Joe," he explained.
"It's not yore ability I object to, Yankie" cut in the ranchman. "Say, what are you insinuatin'?" snarled the segundo. "Not a thing, Yankie. I'm tellin' you to yore face that I think you're a crook. One of these days I'm goin' to land you behind the bars at Santa Fé. No, don't make another pass like that, Joe. I'll sure beat you to it."
When Wrayburn had finished his story, the foreman showed a row of tobacco-stained teeth in an unpleasant grin. "Same old stuff, Dad. There always is a bunch of bucks off the reservation an' they're always just goin' to run our cattle away. If you ask me there's nothin' to it." Young Thursday flushed. "If you'll ride out with me I'll show you their trail." Yankie looked at him with a sneer.
"The riff-raff of the county are back of it, but the worst of it is that they've got a lot of good people in with them. Some of the Flying V Y riders are in town too. I never saw so much drinking before." "When is it to be?" "I don't know." "Who told you?" "Bud Proctor. He says Yankie and Albeen and that crowd are spending hundreds of dollars at the bars."
"No one-armed, hammered-down little runt can bluff me for a second. When I'm good an' ready I'll settle with him, but I'm not goin' to wreck this business we're on by any personal difficulty." "That's right, Dave," agreed the foreman of the Flying V Y. "We all understand how you feel." Yankie, busy fastening a cinch, had his forehead pressed against the saddle and could afford a grin.
Joe Yankie expected to continue to use it as long as he found a profit in other men's cattle. When he had reached the summit he swung to the right, dipped abruptly into a narrow gulch, skirted a clump of junipers, and looked down upon a little basin hidden snugly in the gorge. A wisp of pungent smoke rose to his nostrils. The pony began cautiously the sharp descent.
He was still whirling as if from absent-minded habit the loop of his reata. "We're here to listen, Jack. That would suit me down to the ground," answered Wrayburn. The loop of the lariat snaked forward, whistled through the air, dropped over the head of Yankie, and tightened around his neck.
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