Gunsight Pass | Page 8

for us to come help him turn loose the
bear. I kinda took my time then."
"Onct I went to a play called 'All's Well That Ends Well,'" said
Byington reminiscently. "At the Tabor Grand the-á-ter, in Denver."
"Did it tell how a freckled cow-punch rode a fat tinhorn on his spurs?"
asked Hart.
"Bet he wears stovepipes on his laigs next time he mixes it with Dave,"
suggested one coffee-brown youth. "Well, looks like the show's over
for to-night. I'm gonna roll in." Motion carried unanimously.

CHAPTER IV
THE PAINT HOSS DISAPPEARS
Wakened by the gong, Dave lay luxuriously in the warmth of his
blankets. It was not for several moments that he remembered the fight
or the circumstances leading to it. The grin that lit his boyish face at
thought of its unexpected conclusion was a fleeting one, for he
discovered that it hurt his face to smile. Briskly he rose, and grunted
"Ouch!" His sides were sore from the rib squeezing of Miller's
powerful arms.
Byington walked out to the remuda with him. "How's the man-tamer

this glad mo'nin'?" he asked of Dave.
"Fine and dandy, old lizard."
"You sure got the deadwood on him when yore spurs got into action. A
man's like a watermelon. You cayn't tell how good he is till you thump
him. Miller is right biggity, and they say he's sudden death with a gun.
But when it come down to cases he hadn't the guts to go through and
stand the gaff."
"He's been livin' soft too long, don't you reckon?"
"No, sir. He just didn't have the sand in his craw to hang on and finish
you off whilst you was rippin' up his laigs."
Dave roped his mount and rode out to meet Chiquito. The pinto was an
aristocrat in his way. He preferred to choose his company, was a little
disdainful of the cowpony that had no accomplishments. Usually he
grazed a short distance from the remuda, together with one of Bob
Hart's string. The two ponies had been brought up in the same bunch.
This morning Dave's whistle brought no nicker of joy, no thud of hoofs
galloping out of the darkness to him. He rode deeper into the desert. No
answer came to his calls. At a canter he cut across the plain to the
wrangler. That young man had seen nothing of Chiquito since the
evening before, but this was not at all unusual.
The cowpuncher returned to camp for breakfast and got permission of
the foreman to look for the missing horses.
Beyond the flats was a country creased with draws and dry arroyos.
From one to another of these Dave went without finding a trace of the
animals. All day he pushed through cactus and mesquite heavy with
gray dust. In the late afternoon he gave up for the time and struck back
to the flats. It was possible that the lost broncos had rejoined the
remuda of their own accord or had been found by some of the riders
gathering up strays.

Dave struck the herd trail and followed it toward the new camp. A
horseman came out of the golden west of the sunset to meet him. For a
long time he saw the figure rising and falling in the saddle, the pony
moving in the even fox-trot of the cattle country.
The man was Bob Hart.
"Found 'em?" shouted Dave when he was close enough to be heard.
"No, and we won't--not this side of Malapi. Those scalawags didn't
make camp last night. They kep' travelin'. If you ask me, they're movin'
yet, and they've got our broncs with 'em."
This had already occurred to Dave as a possibility. "Any proof?" he
asked quietly.
"A-plenty. I been ridin' on the point all day. Three-four times we cut
trail of five horses. Two of the five are bein' ridden. My Four-Bits hoss
has got a broken front hoof. So has one of the five."
"Movin' fast, are they?"
"You're damn whistlin'. They're hivin' off for parts unknown. Malapi
first off, looks like. They got friends there."
"Steelman and his outfit will protect them while they hunt cover and
make a getaway. Miller mentioned Denver before the race--said he was
figurin' on goin' there. Maybe--"
"He was probably lyin'. You can't tell. Point is, we've got to get busy.
My notion is we'd better make a bee-line for Malapi right away,"
proposed Bob.
"We'll travel all night. No use wastin' any more time."
Dug Doble received their decision sourly. "It don't tickle me a heap to
be left short-handed because you two boys have got an excuse to get to
town quicker."

Hart looked him straight in the eye. "Call it an excuse if you want to.
We're after a pair of shorthorn crooks