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There was the NL Block of Belle Lorrigan, the ANL which was Al's brand, the DNL of Duke and the LNL which belonged to Lance; monograms all of them, deftly constructed with the fewest possible lines. There was that invitation to the unlawful artistry of brand-working, the Eleven which Sleek Douglas thought quite sufficient to mark his cattle.
The job was neither easy nor pleasant, but she did it thoroughly. Riley, roosting meditatively on the top rail of the corral where he could watch the road down the bluff, craned his long neck inquiringly toward her when she returned. "Nothing but NL stuff, just as I thought," said Belle, holding her hands as far away from her face as possible.
"I was over helping hold old Scotty in his bed, the other day," he said irrelevantly. "He was crazy out of his head. He kept yelling that the Lorrigans were stealing his stock. He kept saying that a few more marks with a straight branding iron would turn his Eleven into an NL, ANL, DNL, LNL any one of the Devil's Tooth brands. Crazy with fever, he was."
A dozen brands were represented in that foregathering: The NL brand of Tom Lorrigan on most, with its various amendments which differentiated the property of other members of the family, since all of the Lorrigans owned cattle.
The Lorrigan reputation never had troubled her much, but it sent her now to the shed where hides were kept stored until the hide buyer made his next annual visit through the country. She did not believe that she would find any brand save the various combinations of the NL monogram, but she meant to make sure before any stranger was given access to the place.
He supposed strange irons were set now and then on the hide of an NL animal across the mountains but the branders had better not let him catch them at it! On the other hand, he would see to it that they did not catch him branding mavericks on his own range. To Tom that seemed fair enough, a give-and-take game of the rangeland.
"Why, no. I never meant anything like that at all. I only said " "Straight talk don't need no explainin', Cheyenne. The Devil's Tooth outfit shore likes the taste of its own beef. If any man fails to agree with that, I want him to speak up right now." Cheyenne pinched out the fire in his cigarette and flipped the stub away from him. He did not look at Tom when he said: "NL beef shore suits me.
"Well, now, if you know anything about any hide with the brand cut out, you'd better come through, Cheyenne." "I never said I knowed anything about it. I guess mebby that's why I couldn't give him no satisfaction." Cheyenne still grinned, but he did not meet Tom's eyes. "You spoke kinda queer for a man who don't know nothing, Cheyenne. Did yuh think mebby it wasn't all NL beef you been eating?"
An' she made fine eatin', I have na doot. But 'tis the law, Mister Lorrigan, that a mon should pay for the meat he consumes." "Meaning, of course, that you think I'm feeding Douglas meat to my outfit. Don't you think you're kinda hasty? I kill a beef about every three or four days in round-up time. The boys work hard and they eat hard. And they eat NL beef, Scotty; don't overlook that fact.
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