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Seventy-sevens, but he found em, and then Butch Jensen found him.
Oh, Lordffwas West paled. If that big brute hurt that kid, I ll kill him!
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You won t need no war paint, Chuck said, aggravatingly slow, because the
kid took Butch to a swell three-sided whipping. Folks say Johnny just lit all
over him, swinging in every direction. He whipped Butch to a frazzle!
Chuck, Bert burst out, you re crazy!
Why, that kid couldn t whip one side of
But he did, Chuck interrupted. He not only beat Butch up, but he made him
pay for three head at twenty dollars a head.
He further told him that the next hide he found on Butch s fence would cost
him thirty dollars.
West swallowed. And Butch took it?
Boss, if you d seen Butch you d not ask that
question. Butch took everything the kid could throw, which was plenty. Butch
looks like he d crawled facefirst into a den of wildcats. But that ain t all.
They waited, staring at Chuck. He rolled a smoke, taking his time.
He told everybody who was listening, he finally said, and probably three
or four of em was friends of Lacey, that if Hook rustled one more head of our
stock, he was going to attend to him personal.
West groaned and Bert Ramsey swallowed.
But Chuck was not through.
Then the kid goes into the Gold Pan. He ain t there more n thirty minutes
before he has that little blond peacherino crazy about him. Mary, she s so
crazy about that kid she can t even get her orders straight.
Chuck, West demanded, where s Johnny now? If you know, tell me!
Chuck Allen grew sober. That s the trouble, boss. I don t know. But when he
left Victorio he headed back into the mountains. And that was yesterday
afternoon.
Bert Ramsey s face was pale. He liked his job on the Slash Seven and knew
West was quite capable of firing him as he had promised. Moreover, he was
genuinely worried. That he had considered the boss s nephew a nuisance was
true, but anybody who could whip Butch Jensen, and who could collect for
stolen cattle, was no tenderfoot, but a man to ride the river with. But to
ride into the hills after Hook Lacey, after whipping Jensen, threatening Hook,
and then walking off with the girl Hook wanted t was insanity.
Whipping Jensen was something, but Hook Lacey wouldn t use his fists. He
would use a gun, and he had killed seven men, at least. And he would have
plenty of help.
West straightened. Bert, he said harshly, you get Gar Mullins, Monty
Reagan, and Bucky McCann and ride after that kid. And don t come back without
him!
Ramsey nodded. Yes, sir, he said.
I sure will get him.
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How about me? Chuck asked. Can I go, too?
At the very hour the little cavalcade was leaving the ranch, Johnny Lyle was
lying on a ridge looking down into the upper part of the Tierra Blanca Canyon.
A thin trail of smoke was lifting from the canyon, and he could see
approximately where the camp was. He lay high on the rugged side of Seven
Brothers Mountain, with the camp almost fifteen hundred feet below.
All right, boy, he told himself, you ve made your brags. Now what are you
going to do?
North of the camp the canyon ran due north and south, but just below it took
a sharp bend to the west, although a minor canyon trailed off south for a
short distance in less rugged country. Their hideout, Johnny could see, was
well chosen. There was obviously a spring, judging from the way their camp
was located and the looks of the trees and brush, and there was a way out up
the canyon to the north.
On the south, they could swing west around the bend. Johnny could see that
this trail branched, and the branch beyond also branched. In taking any route
they were well covered, with plenty of chance of a getaway unseen, or for
defense if they so desired.
Yet if they had to ride north up the canyon there was no way out for several
miles. With a posse closing in from the south, one man could stop their escape
to the north. Their camp at the spring, however, was so situated that it was
nearly impossible for them to be stopped from going south by anything less
than a large posse. It was fairly obvious, though, that if they were attacked
they would ride south.
The idea that came to him was the wildest kind of a gamble, but he decided to
take the chance, for there was a possibility that it might work. To plan ahead
was impossible. All he could do was start the ball rolling and take advantage
of what opportunity offered.
Mounting his horse, he rode along a bench of Seven Brothers and descended the
mountain on the southwest. In the canyon to the west he hastily gathered
sticks and built a fire, laying a foundation of crossed dry sticks of some
size, gathered from canyon driftwood and arranged in such a way as to burn for
some time. The fire was built among rocks and on dry sand so there was no way
for it to spread, and no way for it to be seen, though the rising smoke would
be visible.
Circling farther south and east, he built three more fires. His hope was that
the smoke from all of them would be seen by the outlaws, who would deduce that
a posse, having approached during the night, now was preparing breakfast, with
every way out blocked. If they decided this, and without a careful scouting
expedition, which would consume time, the outlaws would surely retreat up the
canyon to the north.
Johnny Lyle worked fast and he worked hard, adding a few sticks of green wood
to increase the smoke. When his last fire had been built, he mounted again and
rode north on the east side of Stoner Mountain. Now the mountain was between
him and the outlaws and he had no idea of what they would do. His gamble was
that by riding north, he could hit the canyon of the Tierra Blanca after it
swung east, and intercept the escaping outlaws.
He rode swiftly, aware that he could travel faster than they, but with no
idea whether or not they had seen his fires and were moving. His first idea
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was to ride into the bottom of the canyon and meet them face-to-face, but Hook
Lacey was a rugged character, as were his men, and the chances were they would
elect to fight. He chose the safer way and crawled down among some rocks.
An hour had passed before they appeared. He knew none of them, but rightly
guessed the swarthy man with the hook nose was Lacey. He let them get within
thirty yards, then yelled:
All right, boys! Drop your guns and get your hands up! We ve got you
bottled!
There was an instant of frozen silence, then Lacey s gun leaped to his hand.
He let out a wild yell and the riders charged right up the slope and at Johnny
Lyle.
Suddenly panic-stricken, Johnny got off a quick shot that burned the
hindquarters of Lacey s plunging horse and hit the pommel of the rider
following him. Glancing off, it ripped the following man s arm. Then the
riders were right at him.
Johnny sprang aside, working the lever of his Winchester, but they were too
close. Wildly he grabbed iron, and then took a wicked blow on the skull from a
clubbed six-shooter. He went down, stunned but not out, and managed a quick
shot with his six-gun that dropped a man. And then he was up and running. He
had only time to grab his Winchester and dive into the rocks.
Cut off from his horse, he was in desperate straits. It would be a matter of
minutes, or even seconds, before they would realize only one man had been
shooting. Then they would come back.
Scrambling into the rocks, he worked himself higher, striving for a vantage
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