It'd be just like the two of 'em to yell her out so yuh could hear it over in the next county. An' I've got plenty of reasons for wishin' to be private."

"Don't worry none. They'll keep their mouths shut. I'll fix that up.

I wish yuh luck, Tom. I sh.o.r.e hope yuh get the 88 an' get 'em good. I ain't lost no more cows lately, but I don't like 'em any better for that."

"I wish I could make Old Salt see the light," Loudon grumbled.

"I kind o' think he's comin' round. I seen him a week ago, an' he didn't talk real friendly 'bout the 88. But then, he might have had a bellyache at the time. Old Salt's kind o' odd. Yuh can't always tell what he's thinkin' inside."

CHAPTER XIX

MARYSVILLE

Judge Allison, portly and forty, sat on the porch of the Sunrise Hotel in Marysville. The judicial hands were clasped over the judicial stomach, and the judicial mind was at peace with all mankind. However, a six-shooter in a shoulder-holster nudged the judicial ribs beneath each arm-pit. For mankind is peevish and p.r.o.ne to hold grudges, and in order to secure an uninterrupted term on the bench a judge must be prepared for eventualities.

Tied to the hitching-rail in front of the hotel was a good-looking sorrel horse. It bore the Barred Twin Diamond brand. Judge Allison had bought the horse that very morning. He had bought him from the keeper of the dance hall, Mr. William Archer, who, it seemed, had five others for sale.

Judge Allison was delighted with his bargain. He knew a horse when he saw one, and he felt that he had gotten the best of Archer in the deal.

True, as Archer had said, the sorrel was a little footsore, but two or three weeks of light work would cure that.

"Yes," mused the Judge, "a good animal. Sixteen hands high if he's an inch, and I'll bet he can run rings round any cow-pony in the community. By Jove, here come two unusually fine animals!"

Which last remark was called forth by the approach of two big rangy horses, a bay and a gray. The riders, very dusty, both of them, were hard-looking characters. A week's growth of stubble does not add to the appearance of any one. They were tall, lean men, these two, and one of them was exceedingly swarthy.

They dismounted at the hitching-rail, tossed the reins over their horses' heads, and went into the bar. Both, as they pa.s.sed, glanced casually at the Judge's sorrel.

"Flying Diamond A," said the judge to himself, eying the strangers'

mounts. "I don't believe I ever heard of that outfit. It must be a southwestern ranch."

Judge Allison had never heard of his sorrel's brand, the Barred Twin Diamond, either. But then the Judge knew Mr. William Archer, or thought he did, and to question the authenticity of the brand had not entered his head.

The two tall, lean riders would have been greatly pleased had they known of the ease with which the Judge read the brands on their horses'

hips. It was a tribute to their skill in hair-branding. Pocket-knives in their hands, they had spent hours in a broiling hot draw altering the Flying M to the Flying Diamond A.

On paper it is ridiculously simple. Merely prolong upward, till they meet, the outer arms of the Flying M, and there you have it, a perfectly good Flying Diamond A. But it is quite another story when one's paper is the hide of a nervous horse which frantically objects to having its hair pinched out.

The strangers happened to be sitting on the porch when the Judge rode homeward on his sore-footed purchase. They noted how tenderly the Barred Twin Diamond sorrel walked, and promptly retired to the bar and made a fast friend of the bartender.

That afternoon the younger of the two hard-looking characters, the gray-eyed man, became exceedingly intoxicated and quarrelled with his swarthy friend who remained quite sober. The friend endeavoured to get him to bed--they had taken a room at the hotel--but the drunken one ran away. For a gentleman overcome by drink he ran remarkably well.

He was discovered an hour later in Mr. Archer's corral, making hysterical endeavours to climb the fence, and bawling that he was being detained against his will and would presently make a sieve of the individual who had hidden the gate. To which end he flourished a six-shooter.

Mr. Archer opened the gate and invited the tippler to come out. But this he refused to do, and offered to fight Mr. Archer rough-and-tumble or with knives on a blanket.

Mr. Archer, with an eye to future patronage, did not send for the marshal. He sent for the man's friend. When the swarthy one appeared, the other immediately sheathed his six-shooter, burst into maudlin tears, and fell on his neck. Weeping bitterly, he was led away to the hotel and to bed.

"I've seen drunks," observed a plump dance-hall girl, "but I never seen one as full as he is that could walk so good. His licker only seems to hit him from the belt up."

"Oh, there's drunks an' drunks," sagely replied Mr. Archer. "When yo're as old as I am, Clarice, yuh won't wonder at nothin' a drunk does."

When the two strangers were in their room with the door shut the younger one lay down on his cot and stuffed the end of a blanket into his mouth. His whole big frame shook with uproarious mirth. He kicked the cot with his boot-toes and bounced up and down. His friend laughed silently.

"Telescope," whispered the man on the bed, when he could open his mouth without yelling, "Telescope, I got it all. They's five hosses in that corral o' Archer's, all of 'em sore-footed an' all branded Barred Twin Diamond. It's done mighty slick, too. Yuh can't hardly tell it ain't the real thing. An' one of 'em, a black with two white stockings, I can swear to like I can to that sorrel the bartender said the Judge bought. I've rode 'em both."

"Sleeck work," breathed Laguerre. "I kin sw'ar to dat sorrel, too. I know heem, me. He ees six year old, un dat red one I see een de corral, I know heem. I bust heem a t'ree-year old. He ees five now.

But de odders I not so sh.o.r.e."

"It don't matter. They're all Scotty's horses. That's a cinch."

"I won'er eef de rest back een de heel. W'at you t'ink?"

"No, they ain't. Why, look here, Telescope, them six sorefoots tell the story. If the rustlers was holdin' the band in the hills they'd 'a' kept the six. But they didn't. They turned 'em over to Archer.

That shows they was drivin' 'em, an' drivin' 'em some'ers near here.

Well, the railroad ain't more'n fifty mile south. Farewell's about sixty mile north. If them rustlers got the band this far their best move would be to keep right on to the railroad an' ship the hosses east or west. An' I'll gamble that's what they've done."

Loudon gazed triumphantly at Laguerre. The latter nodded.

"You are right, you bet," he said, his eyes beginning to glitter. "I hope dem two odder boys geet a move on."

"They ought to pull in to-morrow. To-night, when I'm all sober again, we'll go down to the dance hall an' find out if Archer's made any little out-o'-town trips lately. Telescope, I'm sh.o.r.e enjoyin' this.

To-morrow I'm goin' to make the acquaintance o' the Judge an' see what he thinks o' this rustler Loudon who goes spreadin' the Crossed Dumbbell brand up an' down the land. Yes, sir, I got to shake hands with Judge Allison."

Again mirth overcame him, and he had recourse to the blanket.

"I wouldn' go see dat Judge," advised Laguerre, with a dubious shake of the head. "She may not be de damfool. She might have you' face describe', huh. She might see onder de w'iskair. You leave heem 'lone, my frien'."

But Loudon remained firm in his resolve.

Mr. Archer was a good business man. His two fiddlers were excellent, and his girls were prettier than the average cow-town dance-hall women.

Consequently, Mr. Archer's place was popular. When Loudon and Laguerre entered, four full sets were thumping through a polka on the dancing floor, and in the back room two gamblers sat behind their boxes, players two deep bordering the tables.

After a drink at the bar the two watched the faro games awhile. Then Laguerre captured a good-looking brunette and whirled with her into a wild waltz. Loudon singled out a plump little blonde in a short red skirt and a shockingly inadequate waist and invited her to drink with him.

"I seen yuh this mornin'," she confided, planting both elbows on the table. "Yuh sh.o.r.e was packin' a awful load. I wondered how yuh walked at all."

"Oh, I can always walk," said Loudon, modestly. "Liquor never does affect my legs none--only my head an' my arms."

"Different here, dearie. When I'm full it hits me all over. I just go blah. Yuh got to carry me. I can't walk nohow. But I don't tank up much. Bill Archer don't like it. Say, honey, what djuh say to a dance? Don't yuh feel like a waltz or somethin'?"

"I'd rather sit here an' talk to yuh. Besides, my ankle's strained some. Dancin' won't do it no good."

"That's right. Well, buy me another drink then. I want to get forty checks to-night if I can."

"Help yoreself. The bridle's off to you, Mary Jane."

"Call me Clarice. That's my name. Ain't it got a real refined sound?

I got it out of a book. The herowine was called that. She drowned herself. Gee, I cried over that book! Read it six times, too. Here's luck, stranger."