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Updated: May 2, 2025
But he now knew that he would have to ride with Sneed, or he would be suspected of double-dealing. At the fork of the road leading into Phoenix, Sneed reined in. "We're ridin' tired horses, boys. And we ain't lookin' for trouble. All we want is Panhandle. We'll get him."
Sneed had not been identified until Pelly got track of him in Tucson. During his talk with Senator Brown the marshal mentioned the fact that Panhandle Sears was in Phoenix. "Did Panhandle come in from the south?" queried the Senator. "Nobody seems to know." "Well, if he did, we have got the link that's missing in this chain, Colonel.
There's going to be roundups like these old Panhandle rannies tell about, when the green grass comes."
Fool that he had been, he had stumbled into a trap, and she had let him do it without a word of warning. Wild, chaotic thoughts crowded his brain furiously. But the voice with which he addressed them was singularly even and colorless. "I am a stranger to this country. I was born in Tennessee, brought up in the Panhandle. I'm an irrigation engineer by profession. This is my vacation.
Something was born in the depths of his gentle soul then. Dick tore a hole in the little wall of rocks that supported the porch, and with a lighted torch on a stick he wormed his way in to rout out the skunks. Panhandle suddenly was thrilled and frightened by a bellowing from Dick. The boy came hurriedly backing out of the hole.
He stated that unpleasant fact to his companions, Posmo and Shorty, the latter a town loafer he had picked up in Antelope. Shorty had nothing to say. Panhandle's drunken aggressive cowed him. But Posmo, who had really found the market for the stolen stock, felt that he had been cheated. Panhandle had promised him a third of his share of the money.
Suppose he had failed to save money suppose he had become numbered among those whom his old schoolteacher had called "bad cowboys"! Pride, neglect, love of the range and new country, new adventure had kept him from doing his duty by his parents. That hour was indeed dark and shameful for Panhandle Smith.
And by the time the lay watch was ended he had determined to quit his job and ride home. On his way home Panhandle Smith rode across the old Limestone range that had been the scene of his first cowboy activities. It had not changed, although the cattle were not so numerous.
"No; I've never been in that country, which I s'pose you'll think strange; but I was on my way there, when I met the great scout Kit Carson and several hunters. They took me along with 'em, and the next twenty years of my life was spent in New Mexico, Arizona and Texas. Since then I've ranged from the Panhandle to Montana, most of the time in the cattle bus'ness."
Some wag yelled from a distance: "Thar ain't no sheriff, Panhandle." Pan retraced his steps up the street, finding, as before, a clear passage. Men hailed him from doorways, from windows, from behind obstructions. He did not need to be told that they were with him. Marco had been treated to precisely what it wanted.
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