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Updated: June 29, 2025
Those horses bore riders. They were coming straight down the open valley, on the wagon road to Isbel's ranch. No subterfuge nor secrecy nor sneaking in that advance! A hot thrill ran over Jean. "By Heaven! They mean business!" he muttered. Up to the last moment he had unconsciously hoped Jorth's gang would not come boldly like that.
"Say, Bruce," said Daggs, "was this heah palaverin' of yours an' Jean Isbel's aboot the old stock dispute? Aboot his father's range an' water? An' partickler aboot, sheep?" "Wal I I yelled a heap," declared Bruce, haltingly, "but I don't recollect all I said I was riled.... Shore, though it was the same old argyment thet's been fetchin' us closer an' closer to trouble."
"It'll start soon enough," was Isbel's gloomy reply. Jean had not failed altogether in his tracking of lost or stolen cattle. Circumstances had been against him, and there was something baffling about this rustling. The summer storms set in early, and it had been his luck to have heavy rains wash out fresh tracks that he might have followed. The range was large and cattle were everywhere.
He saved me from bein' lynched in Texas. An' so I'm goin' to kill Jorth. Now I'll take it kind of y'u if any of y'u come out of this alive to tell who I was an' why I was on the Isbel side. Because this sheep an' cattle war this talk of Jorth an' the Hash Knife Gang it makes me, sick. I KNOW there's been crooked work on Isbel's side, too.
"I seen thet animal. Fust time I reckoned it was a lofer. Second time it was right near them Isbels. An' I'm damned now if I don't believe it's thet half-lofer sheep dog of Gass Isbel's." "Wal, what if it is?" "Ha! ... Shore we needn't worry about hidin' out," replied Springer, sententiously. "With thet dog Jean Isbel could trail a grasshopper." "The hell y'u say!" muttered Colter.
The wives of Jacobs and Guy Isbel had slipped up behind Jean and from behind him they had seen the tragedy. "I asked Bill not to go," faltered the Jacobs woman, and, covering her face with her hands, she groped back to the comer of the cabin, where the other women, shaking and white, received her in their arms. Guy Isbel's wife stood at the window, peering over Jean's shoulder.
Slowly dropping his head, he remained motionless, a pathetic and tragic figure; and he did not stir until the rapid beat of hoofs denoted the approach of horsemen. Blaisdell appeared on his white charger, leading a pack animal. And behind rode a group of men, all heavily armed, and likewise with packs. "Get down an' come in," was Isbel's greeting. "Bill you look after their packs.
He had a rough red-blue face, hard and rugged, like the rocks he rode over so fearlessly, and his eyes were bright hazel, steady and hard. Isbel's vernacular was significant. Speaking of one of our horses he said: "Like a mule he'll be your friend for twenty years to git a chance to kick you." Speaking of another that had to be shod he said: "Shore, he'll step high to-morrow."
They ought to be heah, an' if they are y'u shore can bet they've got the fight sized up." Isbel's hopes did not materialize. The shooting continued without any lull until about midday. Then the Jorth faction stopped. "Wal, now what's up?" queried Isbel. "Boys, hold your fire an' let's wait." Gradually the smoke wafted out of the windows and doors, until the room was once more clear.
He had been stolen by her father or by one of her father's accomplices. Isbel's vaunted cunning as a tracker had been no idle boast. Her father was a horse thief, a rustler, a sheepman only as a blind, a consort of Daggs, leader of the Hash Knife Gang. Ellen well remembered the ill repute of that gang, way back in Texas, years ago.
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