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Updated: June 24, 2025
They have resented sheepmen comin' down into the valley. They want it all to themselves. That's the reason. Shore there's another. All the Isbels are crooked. They're cattle an' horse thieves have been for years. Gaston Isbel always was a maverick rustler. He's gettin' old now an' rich, so he wants to cover his tracks.
Both his comrades moved to get in line with his finger. Ellen could not see from her position. "Shore thet's a big lofer," declared Somers. "Reckon he scented us." "There he goes along the Rim," observed Colter. "He doesn't act leary. Looks like a good sign to me. Mebbe the Isbels have gone the other way." "Looks bad to me," rejoined Springer, gloomily. "An' why?" demanded Colter.
Plain is was that Bill did not want them to know. Blaisdell bound up the bloody shoulder with a scarf. Steady firing from the rustlers went on, at the rate of one shot every few minutes. The Isbels did not return these. Jean did not fire again that afternoon.
There always was talk," declared Ellen, contemptuously. "A nasty, gossipy, catty hole, that Grass Valley!" "Ellen, thar's goin' to be war a bloody war in the ole Tonto Basin," went on Sprague, seriously. "War! ... Between whom?" "The Isbels an' their enemies. I reckon most people down thar, an' sure all the cattlemen, air on old Gass's side.
A thousand perplexing problems were solved in a second of whirling, revealing thought. "Ellen Jorth, you know your father's in with this Hash Knife Gang of rustlers," thundered Isbel. "Shore," she replied, with the cool, easy, careless defiance of a Texan. "You know he's got this Daggs to lead his faction against the Isbels?" "Shore."
"Shore thet's natural," replied the rider. His speech was slow, and the motions of his long, brown hands, as he took a cigarette from his vest, kept time with his words. "But seein' you're one of the Isbels, I'll hev my say whether you want it or not. My name's Colter an' I'm one of the sheepmen Gass Isbel's riled with." "Colter. Glad to meet you," replied Jean.
I told him I had sent for you an' when you got heah these slippery, mysterious thieves, whoever they were, would shore have hell to pay. Greaves said he hoped so, but he was afraid I was partial to my Indian son. Then we had hot words. Blaisdell got between us. When I was leavin' I took a partin' fling at him. 'Greaves, you ought to know the Isbels, considerin' you're from Texas.
In those days every cattleman was a little bit of a thief. Every cattleman drove in an' branded calves he couldn't swear was his. Wal, the Isbels were the strongest cattle raisers in that country. An' I laid a trap for Lee Jorth, caught him in the act of brandin' calves of mine I'd marked, an' I proved him a thief. I made him a rustler. I ruined him. We met once.
The wimminfolks come out the red-headed one, Guy's wife, an' Jacobs's wife they drove the hogs away an' buried their husbands right there in the pasture. Evarts says he seen the graves." "It is the women who can teach these bloody Texans a lesson," declared Ellen, forcibly. "Wal, Daggs was drunk, an' he got up from behind where the gang was hidin', an' dared the Isbels to come out.
You can trust your dad to tell the absolute truth. In this fight that 'll wipe out some of the Isbels maybe all of them you're on the side of justice an' right. Knowin' that, a man can fight a hundred times harder than he who knows he is a liar an' a thief." The old rancher wiped his perspiring face and breathed slowly and deeply. Jean sensed in him the rise of a tremendous emotional strain.
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