Cowboy Dave | Page 7

leaning over in the saddle, until his face was very near to that of the
bully's, and with blazing eyes looking directly into the shrinking ones
of the other rancher's son, Dave said slowly, but with great emphasis:
"Who--told--you?"
There was menace in his tone and attitude, and Len shrank back.
"Oh, don't be afraid!" Dave laughed mirthlessly. "I'm not going to
strike you--not now."
"You--you'd better not," Len muttered.

"I want you first to answer my questions," Dave went on. "After that I'll
see what happens. It's according to how much truth there is in what you
have said."
"Oh, it's true all right," sneered the bully.
"Then I demand to know who told you!"
Dave's hand shot out and grasped the bridle of the other's horse, and
Len's plan of flight was frustrated.
"Let me go!" he whiningly demanded.
"Not until you tell me who said I am a nobody--that Mr. Carson is not
my father," Dave said, firmly.
"I--I----" began the shrinking Len, when the sound of another horseman
approaching caused both lads to turn slightly in their saddles. Dave half
expected to see Pocus Pete, but he beheld the not very edifying
countenance of Whitey Wasson, a tow-headed cowpuncher belonging
to the Centre O outfit. Whitey and Len were reported to be cronies, and
companions in more than one not altogether pleasant incident.
"Oh, here you are; eh; Len?" began Whitey. "And I see you've got the
strays."
"Yes, I've got 'em," said Len, shortly.
"Any trouble?" went on Whitey, with a quick glance at Dave. The
position of the two lads--Dave with his hand grasping Len's bridle--was
too significant to be overlooked.
"Trouble?" began Len. "Well, he--he--"
"He made a certain statement concerning me," Dave said, quietly,
looking from Len to Whitey, "and I asked him the source of his
information. That is all."
"What did he say?"

"He said I was a nameless, picked-up nobody, and that Mr. Carson was
not my father. I asked him how he knew, and he said some one told
him that."
"So he did!" exclaimed Len.
"Then I demand to know who it was!" cried Dave.
For a moment there was silence, and then Whitey Wasson, with a
chuckle said:
"I told Len myself!"
"You did?" cried Dave.
"Yes, he did! Now maybe you won't be so smart!" sneered Len. "Let go
my horse!" he cried, roughly, as he swung the animal to one side. But
no force was needed; as Dave's nerveless hand fell away from the
bridle. He seemed shocked--stunned again.
"You--you--how do you know?" he demanded fiercely, raising his
sinking head, and looking straight at Whitey.
"Oh, I know well enough. Lots of the cowboys do. It isn't so much of a
secret as you think. If you don't believe me ask your father--no, he ain't
your father--but ask the Old Man himself. Just ask him what your name
is, and where you came from, and see what he says."
Whitey was sneering now, and he chuckled as he looked at Len. Dave's
face paled beneath his tan, and he did not answer.
A nameless, picked-up nobody! How the words stung! And he had
considered himself, proudly considered himself, the son of one of the
best-liked, best-known and most upright cattle raisers of the Rolling
River country. Now who was he?
"Come on, Len," said Whitey. "If you've got the strays we'll drive them
back. Been out long enough as 'tis."

He wheeled his horse, Len doing the same, and they started after the
straying cattle.
"Hold on there, if you please," came in a drawling voice. "Jest cut out
them Bar U steers before you mosey off any farther, Whitey," and
riding around a little hillock came Pocus Pete.
"Um!" grunted Whitey.
"Guess you'll be needin' a pair of specks, won't you, Whitey?" went on
the Bar U foreman, without a glance at Len or Dave. "A Centre O
brand an' a Bar U looks mighty alike to a feller with poor eyes I
reckon," and he smiled meaningly.
"Oh, we can't help it, if some of the Randolph cattle get mixed up with
our strays," said Len.
"Who's talkin' to you?" demanded Pocus Pete, with such fierceness that
the bully shrank back.
"Now you cut out what strays belong to you, an' let ours alone, Mr.
Wasson," went on Pocus Pete with exaggerated politeness. "Dave an' I
can take care of our own I reckon. An' move quick, too!" he added
menacingly.
Whitey did not answer, but he and Len busied themselves in getting
together their own strays. Pocus Pete and Dave, with a little effort,
managed to collect their own bunch, and soon the two parties were
moving off in opposite directions. Dave sat silent on his horse. Pete
glanced at him from time to