Gunsight Pass | Page 7

"Take him off! Take him off!" he implored in shrill
crescendo.
"What's all this?" demanded an imperious voice.
Miller was torn howling from the arms and legs that bound him and

Dave found himself jerked roughly to his feet. The big raw-boned
foreman was glaring at him above his large hook nose. The trail boss
had been out at the remuda with the jingler when the trouble began. He
had arrived in time to rescue his fat friend.
"What's eatin' you, Sanders?" he demanded curtly.
"He jumped George!" yelped Miller.
Breathing hard, Dave faced his foe warily. He was in a better strategic
position than he had been, for he had pulled the revolver of the fat man
from its holster just as they were dragged apart. It was in his right hand
now, pressed close to his hip, ready for instant use if need be. He could
see without looking that Doble was still struggling ineffectively in the
grip of Russell.
"Dave stumbled and spilt some coffee on George; then George he tried
to gun him. Miller mixed in then," explained Hart.
The foreman glared. "None of this stuff while you're on the trail with
my outfit. Get that, Sanders? I won't have it."
"Dave he couldn't hardly he'p hisse'f," Buck Byington broke in. "They
was runnin' on him considerable, Dug."
"I ain't askin' for excuses. I'm tellin' you boys what's what," retorted the
road boss. "Sanders, give him his gun."
The cowpuncher took a step backward. He had no intention of handing
a loaded gun to Miller while the gambler was in his present frame of
mind. That might be equivalent to suicide. He broke the revolver,
turned the cylinder, and shook out the cartridges. The empty weapon he
tossed on the ground.
"He ripped me with his spurs," Miller said sullenly. "That's howcome I
had to turn him loose."
Dave looked down at the man's legs. His trousers were torn to shreds.

Blood trickled down the lacerated calves where the spurs had roweled
the flesh cruelly. No wonder Miller had suddenly lost interest in the
fight. The vaquero thanked his lucky stars that he had not taken off his
spurs and left them with the saddle.
The first thing that Dave did was to strike straight for the wagon where
his roll of bedding was. He untied the rope, flung open the blankets,
and took from inside the forty-five he carried to shoot rattlesnakes. This
he shoved down between his shirt and trousers where it would be handy
for use in case of need. His roll he brought back with him as a
justification for the trip to the wagon. He had no intention of starting
anything. All he wanted was not to be caught at a disadvantage a
second time.
Miller and the two Dobles were standing a little way apart talking
together in low tones. The fat man, his foot on the spoke of a wagon
wheel, was tying up one of his bleeding calves with a bandanna
handkerchief. Dave gathered that his contribution to the conversation
consisted mainly of fervent and almost tearful profanity.
The brothers appeared to be debating some point with heat. George
insisted, and the foreman gave up with a lift of his big shoulders.
"Have it yore own way. I hate to have you leave us after I tell you
there'll be no more trouble, but if that's how you feel about it I got
nothin' to say. What I want understood is this"--Dug Doble raised his
voice for all to hear--"that I'm boss of this outfit and won't stand for any
rough stuff. If the boys, or any one of 'em, can't lose their money
without bellyachin', they can get their time pronto."
The two gamblers packed their race-horse, saddled, and rode away
without a word to any of the range-riders. The men round the fire gave
no sign that they knew the confidence men were on the map until after
they had gone. Then tongues began to wag, the foreman having gone to
the edge of the camp with them.
"Well, my feelin's ain't hurt one li'l' bit because they won't play with us
no more," Steve Russell said, smiling broadly.

"Can you blame that fat guy for not wantin' to play with Dave here?"
asked Hart, and he beamed at the memory of what he had seen. "Son,
you ce'tainly gave him one surprise party when yore rowels dug in."
"Wonder to me he didn't stampede the cows, way he hollered," grinned
a third. "I don't grudge him my ten plunks. Not none. Dave he give me
my money's worth that last round."
"I had a little luck," admitted Dave modestly.
"Betcha," agreed Steve. "I was just startin' over to haul the fat guy off
Dave when he began bleatin'