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Updated: June 11, 2025
Waring knew that Hardy and his men had ridden south, endeavoring to find some clue to the murderer's whereabouts. Waring, guided by almost absolute knowledge, rode in the opposite direction and against a keen instinct that told him High-Chin Bob was not at the ranch. Yet Waring would not overlook the slightest chance.
If they were Shoop recalled the friendly shooting contest with High-Chin Bob. If High Chin were riding the country, doubtless he would be headed south. But if he should happen to cross Shoop's trail by accident Bud shook his head. He would not look for trouble, but if it came his way it would bump into something solid. Shoop had buckled on his gun before leaving Jason.
To Shoop's genial wave of farewell they returned a whoop that seemed edged with a vague challenge. Pat, who was watching them, asked Shoop who the man was riding the pinto. "Why, that's High-Chin Bob Brewster, Starr fo'man. He's kind of a wild bird. I reckon he came over here lookin' for trouble. He's been walkin' around with his wings and tail spread like he was mad at somethin'."
"Nothin'." "All right. Get a movin' and don't try to run. I got my rope handy." High-Chin Bob The man's rusty black coat was torn and wrinkled. His cheap cotton shirt was faded and buttonless. His boots were split at the sole, showing part of a bare foot. He was grimy, unshaven, and puffed unhealthily beneath the eyes. Lorry knew that he was but an indifferent rider without seeing him on a horse.
To be top-hand with a rope among such men as Blaze Andrews, Slim Trivet, Red Bender, and High-Chin Bob, the foreman, was worth all the patient hours he had given to persistent practice with the reata. But to-day he questioned himself. His mother had made him promise to go unarmed because she feared he would become like his father. Why hadn't she told him more about it all?
Both High Chin and Shoop knew what was coming, and Shoop decided to surprise the assemblage. The main issue was not the shooting contest, and if High-Chin Bob had not already seen enough of Shoop's work to satisfy him, the genial Bud intended to clinch the matter right there. Without warning, the sheepman tossed the cans into the air. Shoop and High Chin shot on the instant.
I seen your whiskers kind o' wiggle. You think I'm scared o' that hoss?" "Just a leetle mite, son. Or you wouldn't 'a' sung that there high-chin song. There's some good riders that talk lots. But the best riders I ever seen, jest rode 'em and said nothin'." "Like when you set on my other pop, eh?" "That's the idee."
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