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Updated: May 31, 2025
Only the tracks of feet and the ashes of a dead fire showed that within a few days a party had camped here. Dingwell threw his bridle to the ground and with his rifle tucked under his arm examined the tracks carefully. Sometimes he was down on hands and knees peering at the faint marks of which he was reading the story.
It was raining more definitely now, so that the distant peaks were hidden in a mist. In the lee of the aspens it was still dry. Dingwell stood there frowning at the ashes of the dead campfire. He had had a theory, and it was not working out quite as he had hoped. For the moment he was at a mental impasse. Part of what had happened he could guess almost as well as if he had been present to see it.
"It's easy enough for you to say that," groaned Fox, his hand to an aching head. "But I didn't lambaste you one on the nut. Anyhow, you've won out." "I had won out all the time, only I hadn't pulled it off yet," Dingwell explained with a grin. "You didn't think I was going up to the horse ranch with you meek and humble, did you? But we can talk while we ride.
"So that whether Miss Beulah did or did not meet Meldrum, we have to look for her up among the mountains of the Big Creek watershed," concluded Dingwell. "I believe we'll find her safe and sound. Chances are Meldrum isn't within forty miles of her." They were riding toward Lonesome Park, from which they intended to work up into the hills.
Sweeney is not the kind of a partner to stay with you to the finish if your luck turns bad. When I give my word I go through." Dingwell looked at his cards. "Check to the pat hand. . . . Point is, Hal, that I don't expect my luck to turn bad." "Hmp! Go in with Sweeney and you'll have bad luck all right. I'll promise you that. Better talk this over with me and put a deal through."
The owner of the horse ranch left his mount in the Rothgerber corral and passed through the pasture on foot to Chicito. Half an hour later he dropped into the jacal of Meldrum. He found the indomitable Dingwell again quizzing Meldrum about his residence at Santa Fe during the days he wore a striped uniform. The former convict was grinding his teeth with fury.
Had he better join Sweeney's posse and patrol the desert? Or would he help more by pushing straight into the hills? Dingwell rode up and looked around in surprise. "What's the stir, son?" His partner told him what he had heard and what he suspected. Before he answered, Dave chewed a meditative cud. "Maybeso you're right and maybe 'way off. Say you're wrong. Say Meldrum has nothing to do with this.
"Absolutely none," replied Dave evenly. "Cut that out, Dan," ordered Rutherford curtly. The ex-convict mumbled something into his beard, but subsided. Two hours had slipped away before Dingwell commented on the fact that the sheriff had not arrived. He did not voice his suspicion that the Mexican had been intercepted by the Rutherfords. "Looks like Sweeney didn't get my message," he said lazily.
You ride with me, Jeff. We'll take care of Dingwell. The rest of you scatter. We're going back to the park." The Rutherfords and their captive followed no main road, but cut across country in a direction where they would be less likely to meet travelers. It was a land of mesquite and prickly pear.
That's not the point, Mr. Dingwell. I can't take something for nothing. You can get a hundred men who know far more about cattle than I do. Why do you pick me?" "I've got reasons a-plenty. Right off the bat here are some of them. I'm under obligations to Jack Beaudry and I'd like to pay my debt to his son. I've got no near kin of my own.
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