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Updated: June 20, 2025
And he can't say that I did, and prove it. Now, Frank, you just hold your hosses. I'll ride over to camp and get my outfit together and come over here. Then we'll throw Steve Brown's hosses into your pasture, and I'll see that Sneed's stock is out of here, pronto." "That's all right. But Sneed will trail his stock down here." "But he won't find 'em here.
Mebby he don't hunt when he feels like it!" "Did you tell Uncle Frank?" "Yep. Wish I hadn't. He says for me to stay away from the high country and not to ride by Sneed's place any more." Cheyenne turned to Bartley. "I done made one guess right," he said. "You goin' to kill Sneed?" queried young Jim enthusiastically. "Nobody's goin' to get killed. But I aim to git my hosses."
"I strung them together on a rope," said Bartley. "How's that?" "I tied Sneed's horses together, with a rope. Ran it through the bridles like stringing fish. Not according to Hoyle, but it seems to have worked." Cheyenne shook his head. He did not quite get the significance of Bartley's statement. "Any one get hurt?" queried Bartley presently. "Nope.
Unwittingly, Little Jim had placed his father in a still more precarious position. Sneed and his men, finding the corral empty, would naturally conclude that Cheyenne had kept them busy while some friend had run off the horses. Cheyenne knew the risks he ran; but, above all, he wanted to prolong the game until Little Jim got safely beyond reach of Sneed's men. As for himself
After the party had passed the boundary line of Persimmon Sneed's tract, where he seemed to consider the right of eminent domain merged in nothingness in comparison to his lordly prerogatives as owner in fee simple, he ceased to urge as heretofore. He dictated boldly to the jury.
It may be that Peters had absorbed some of the craft of argument by mere propinquity to Persimmon Sneed, or that Con Hite's conscience was unduly tender, for he long entertained a moral doubt touching his course in this transaction, whether he had a right to pay the ransom money which Nick Peters had extorted from Persimmon Sneed's wife to Persimmon Sneed himself, thereby defrauding Nick Peters of the fruit of his labor.
As the going became stiffer, the rock outcropped and the dust settled. The horses slowed to a walk. Bartley wondered why his companion seemed determined to drive Sneed's stock south. He thought it would be just as well to let them break for the hills, and not bother with them. But Cheyenne offered no explanation. He evidently knew what he was about.
There was a general flutter of good-natured gratulation, and it seemed at the moment only some preposterous mistake that Con Hite should put it into Persimmon Sneed's lean paw and close his trembling fingers over it. "Now, scoot!" he bawled out at the top of his voice, the little den ringing with the echoes of his excitement, a second revolver drawn in his left hand.
Howard to assist her. Mrs. Redburn suffered the most severe and racking pains through the night, and at about twelve o'clock, Katy went to Mr. Sneed's house, and calling up Simon, begged him to go for a doctor. But the physician's art seemed powerless to soothe her.
Cheyenne knew enough about Sneed, by reputation, to make him cautious. He decided to play ace for ace and, if possible, steal the stolen horses from Sneed. The difficulty was to locate them without being seen. Little Jim had said the horses were in Sneed's corral, somewhere up in the mountain meadows.
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