The Sheriffs Son | Page 9

you going to do with me?" growled the defeated man over
his shoulder.
"Do with you?" The voice of Fox registered amiable surprise. "Why, I
am going to ask you to go up to the horse ranch with me so that the
boys can thank you proper for digging up the gold."
Directly in front of them a spur of the range jutted out to meet the
brown foothills. Back of this, forty miles as the crow flies, nestled a
mountain park surrounded by peaks. In it was the Rutherford horse
ranch. Few men traveled to it, and these by little-used trails. Of those
who frequented them, some were night riders. They carried a price on
their heads, fugitives from localities where the arm of the law reached
more surely.
Through the dry brittle grass the man on horseback followed Dingwell
to the scant pines where his cowpony was tethered. Fox dismounted
and stood over his captive while the latter transferred the gunnysack
and its contents to the other saddle. Never for an instant did the little
spy let the other man close enough to pounce upon him. Even though
Dingwell was cowed, Chet proposed to play it safe. Not till he was in
the saddle himself did he let his prisoner mount.
Instantly Dave's cowpony went into the air.
"Whoa, you Teddy! What's the matter with you?" cried the owner of

the horse angrily. "Quit your two-stepping, can't you?"
The animal had been gentle enough all day, but now a devil of unrest
seemed to have entered it. The sound of trampling hoofs thudded on the
hard, sun-baked earth as the bronco came down like a pile-driver,
camel-backed, with legs stiff and unjointed. Skyward it flung itself
again, whirled in the air, and jarred down at an angle. Wildly flapped
the arms of the cattleman. The quirt, wrong end to, danced up and
down clutched in his flying fist. Each moment it looked as if Mr.
Dingwell would take the dust.
The fat stomach of Fox shook with mirth. "Go it, you buckaroo," he
shouted. "You got him pulling leather. Sunfish, you pie-faced cayuse."
The horse in its lunges pounded closer. Fox backed away, momentarily
alarmed. "Here ---- you, hold your brute off. It'll be on top of me in a
minute," he screamed.
Apparently Dingwell had lost all control of the bucker. Somehow he
still stuck to the saddle, by luck rather than skill it appeared. His arms,
working like windmills, went up as Teddy shot into the air again. The
hump-backed weaver came down close to the other horse. At the same
instant Dingwell's loose arm grew rigid and the loaded end of the quirt
dropped on the head of Fox.
The body of Fox relaxed and the rifle slid from his nerveless fingers.
Teddy stopped bucking as if a spring had been touched. Dingwell was
on his own feet before the other knew what had happened. His long
arm plucked the little man from the saddle as if he had been a child.
Still jarred by the blow, Fox looked up with a ludicrous expression on
his fat face. His mind was not yet adjusted to what had taken place.
"I told you to keep the brute away," he complained querulously. "Now,
see what you've done."
Dave grinned. "Looks like I spilled your apple cart. No, don't bother
about that gun. I'll take care of it for you. Much obliged."

Chet's face registered complex emotion. Incredulity struggled with
resentment. "You made that horse buck on purpose," he charged.
"You're certainly a wiz, Chet," drawled the cattleman.
"And that business of being sore at yourself and ashamed was all a
bluff. You were laying back to trick me," went on Fox venomously.
"How did you guess it? Well, don't you care. We're born to trouble as
the sparks fly upward. As for man, his days are as grass. He diggeth a
pit and falleth into it his own self. Likewise he digs a hole and buries
gold, but beholds another guy finds it. See, Second Ananias, fourteen,
twelve."
"That's how you show your gratitude, is it? I might 'a' shot you safe and
comfortable from the mesquite and saved a lot of trouble."
"I don't wonder you're disgusted, Chet. But be an optimist. I might 'a'
busted you high and wide with that quirt instead of giving you a nice
little easy tap that just did the business. There's no manner of use being
regretful over past mistakes," Dave told him cheerfully.
"It's easy enough for you to say that," groaned Fox, his hand to an
aching head. "But I didn't lambaste you one on the nut. Anyhow, you've
won out."
"I had won out all the time, only I hadn't pulled it off yet," Dingwell
explained with a