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Updated: June 10, 2025
An' Jim Blaisdell sent me word to come that this shore was a garden spot of the West. Wal, it is. An' your mother was gone "Three years ago Lee Jorth drifted into the Tonto. An', strange to me, along aboot a year or so after his comin' the Hash Knife Gang rode up from Texas. Jorth went in for raisin' sheep. Along with some other sheepmen he lives up in the Rim canyons.
Jean's intention was to crawl up on this one of the Jorth gang and silently kill him with a knife. If the plan worked successfully, Jean meant to work round to the next rustler. Laying aside his rifle, he crawled forward on hands and knees, making no more sound than a cat. His approach was slow. He had to pick his way, be careful not to break twigs nor rattle stones.
Your dad was aboot to draw. But Jorth made no sign to throw a gun." Jean saw the growing and weaving and thickening threads of a tangle that had already involved him. And the sudden pang of regret he sustained was not wholly because of sympathies with his own people. "The other day back up in the woods on the Rim I ran into a sheepman who said his name was Colter. Who is he? "Colter?
She was the last Jorth. So the wronged Isbels would be avenged. "But he would never know never know I lied to him!" she wailed to the night wind. She was lost lost on earth and to hope of heaven. She had right neither to live nor to die. She was nothing but a little weed along the trail of life, trampled upon, buried in the mud.
Whoever it was had a loud, coarse voice, and this and his actions impressed Jean with a suspicion that the man was under the influence of the bottle. Presently Bill Isbel called Jean in a low voice. "Jean, I got the hole made, but we can't see anyone." "I see them," Jean replied. "They're havin' a powwow. Looks to me like either Jorth or Daggs is drunk.
"Girl, what the hell are y'u sayin'?" hoarsely called Jorth, in dark amaze. "Dad, y'u leave this to me," she retorted. Daggs stepped beside Jorth, significantly on his right side. "Let her alone Lee," he advised, coolly. "She's shore got a hunch on Bruce." "Simm Bruce, y'u cast a dirty slur on my name," cried Ellen, passionately.
Jorth an' his outfit will be some attentive to thet poundin' of yours on the back door. So I reckon. An' they'll be lookin' thet way. I'll run in yell an' throw my guns on Jorth." "Humph! Is that all?" ejaculated Blaisdell. "I reckon thet's all an' I'm figgerin' it's a hell of a lot," responded Blue, dryly. "Thet's what Jorth will think." "Where do we come in?"
Somewhere back in the wild brakes is the hidin' place of the Hash Knife Gang. Nobody but me, I reckon, associates Colonel Jorth, as he's called, with Daggs an' his gang. Maybe Blaisdell an' a few others have a hunch. But that's no matter. As a sheepman Jorth has a legitimate grievance with the cattlemen.
And they exercised extreme caution when they peeped out. "Boys, don't shoot till you see one," said Gaston Isbel. "Maybe after a while they'll get careless. But Jorth will never show himself." The rustlers did not again resort to volleys. One by one, from different angles, they began to shoot, and they were not firing at random.
Didn't Jean find the black hoss up at Jorth's ranch?" demanded Blaisdell. "What more do we want?" "Jean couldn't swear Jorth stole the black." "Wal, by thunder, I can swear to it!" growled Blaisdell. "An' we're losin' cattle all the time. Who's stealin' 'em?" "We've always lost cattle ever since we started ranchin' heah." "Gas, I reckon yu want Jorth to start this fight in the open."
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