Chapter V: Part 5

Pat Beals and one of the Double O riders had brought along the grub and they all lent a hand in getting breakfast. After that the horses were turned into the stockyard and fed while their riders slept in the cool shade of the water tank. It was noon before they were ready to start down the railroad.

Slim went into the tiny depot and spoke to the agent.

“What time will the freight be along to pick up the cattle?” he asked.

“About six o’clock. That gives them better than an hour to get the beef loaded.”

“Thanks,” said Slim. “Mind you now, not a word about this to anyone.”

A few minutes later an even dozen grim-faced cowboys started down the railroad, their horses refreshed by the feed and rest and the riders alert and ready for whatever blazing action the next few hours might hold for them.

The agent had given Slim explicit directions on just where the freight would stop and how the cattle were loaded. It was midafternoon when the cowboys reached the place along the right-of-way. Fortunately there was plenty of cover nearby, low undergrowth providing an excellent hiding place for riflemen while an outcropping of rock would shelter the horses from the rustlers.

Slim, Joe and Nels surveyed the scene carefully. There must be no slips. The trap must be carefully laid.

It was finally decided to place riflemen in the underbrush, holding several riders in reserve behind the rock outcrop. The minute the firing started, they would sweep out and cut off the escape. With the train blocking the railroad, the riflemen on each side and a mounted rear guard, there seemed little chance that the cattle thieves would be able to get away.

Nels took charge of the riflemen while Slim and Joe elected to ride with the men who would cut off the escape from the rear. By the time they had taken their places, a cloud of dust could be seen on the trail from the Cajons. The rustlers were coming, driving the stolen cattle leisurely, for there was ample time before the freight arrived.

A small stream ran a half mile back from the right-of-way and it was here that the rustlers paused to water the cattle. Slim, watching from the protection of the rock outcropping, counted six riders.

The sound of an engine whistle came to them faintly and he turned to see a plume of smoke far up the track. The local freight was coming. The rustlers heard the whistle and started the cattle moving toward the tracks. The showdown was near and Slim felt cool and ready for anything that might happen.

Chapter Twenty-One

Trapped

The freight train clanked to a stop while a quarter of a mile away the cattle churned restlessly. Slim was impatient for the break that would mean action, the break that he hoped would mean the end of the rustlers in the Creeping Shadows country.

While the train crew unloaded the portable chute, the rustlers drove the cattle nearer. Slim looked around at the riders grouped nearby. Impatiently Joe was fingering his six gun and behind him Al Bass sat calmly, his face tense and a little white. Three other horsemen were ready to sweep out and cut off the escape of the rustlers.

Watching the approach of the cattle and the riders, Slim was not surprised to recognize the squat, heavy form of Hack Cook, owner of the Diamond Dot.

“I’m taking Cook,” muttered Joe, who recognized the Diamond Dot owner just as Slim did. The cowboy detective nodded. He’d let Joe have the first chance, for after all it was a feud between the ranches of the valley. If Joe failed to get Cook, Slim knew that with Lightning under him he could overtake anything in the country.

The rustlers whirled around the cattle, keeping them in a compact mass as they neared the train. Suddenly there was a burst of gunfire. The riflemen hidden in the bushes had blazed away.

A horse and rider went down. In another blast of lead a second rustler threw up his hand and pitched from the saddle to lie inert upon the ground.

Guns leaped into the hands of the remaining rustlers and they opened a rapid fire on the riflemen. Joe spurred his horse, and the riders swept out from behind the rock. Slim was riding easily, cautiously, ready to take the trail of the first rustler who made a break for liberty.

“Get ’em all,” shouted Joe. “It’s the Diamond Dot outfit.”

The gunfire was savage, ripping the silence and hurling echoes against the boxcars. The astonished train crew scurried for shelter.

The rustlers knew they were up against tremendous odds, for the cattlemen far outnumbered them and were shooting from shelter.

Hack Cook whirled to meet the menace of the riders. He was using two guns, both of them spouting flame and smoke. A Double O rider who had leaped ahead of Slim slumped in his saddle and his fright-crazed horse pitched him to the ground.

Another Diamond Dot rider went down before the hail of lead. There were only three rustlers left, Hack Cook, one of his cowboys and Newt Bemis, whom Slim knew as a henchman of Hal Titzell’s.

Slim saw Bemis shooting at Joe. He opened fire with his own six gun and the second shot sent Bemis tumbling out of his saddle.

The remaining Diamond Dot cowboy made a dash for the train while Hack Cook whirled his cayuse and rode straight toward Al Bass. Al didn’t flinch, his own gun blazing away steadily at the two-gun desperado. But Al never had a chance. Cook’s heavy bullet caught him in the shoulder and he spun to the ground.

Slim had been too far away to get a draw on Cook, and the rustler broke through the cordon of riders and dashed away up the trail leading through the Cajons.

The cowboy detective paused only long enough to make sure that the other rustler would be captured. Then he spoke to Lightning and set out in pursuit of Cook.

The great sorrel could have overtaken the Diamond Dot owner within a mile, but Slim had other plans. There was a fair chance that Cook, ridden by fear, would lead him to the mountain hideout of the rustlers and there Slim felt that he would find Chuck. He didn’t dare think that anything had happened to Chuck, that he wouldn’t find his companion alive.

Lightning struck an easy pace, keeping within sight of the fleeing Cook, and Slim carefully reloaded his gun. Behind him the sound of firing died out and he knew that the last Diamond Dot cowboy had either been brought down by the blazing guns of the cowboys or had surrendered.

Slim looked down at the trail ahead and something in one of the hoofprints made him pull Lightning to a sudden halt. He slid out of his saddle. The left rear hoofprint of Cook’s horse was marked by a V-shaped nick. There was no doubting it now. Cook was the man who had ambushed the owner of the Box B. He was the rider who had directed the raids on the Box B and the Double O in an attempt to get those outfits fighting each other in a finish battle.

When Slim remounted, he rode with new determination. The rustling mystery was near its solution.

Chapter Twenty-Two

In the Cajons

Chuck’s mind was vague and his head throbbed dully. The last thing he could remember was firing wildly at guns flashing in the night. Gradually his memory returned and he remembered the night raid by the rustlers on the Box B cattle.

The riders had come silently out of the night, following a little draw driving a small herd ahead of them. He had swept down on them after giving the alarm and they had opened fire instantly. Then something had struck his head, constellations had danced before his glazing eyes, and he had collapsed in the saddle. How much time had elapsed or where he was, were questions he couldn’t answer.

Chuck moved cautiously and learned that he was bound hand and foot. His roving eyes took in his prison. He was lying on the floor of a lean-to, one wall of which was formed by a larger cabin. It was daylight, for he could see the sky through cracks in the roof, but there was no sound to indicate that anyone was near.

The cowboy detective attempted to sit up, and after a painful ordeal, managed to twist his body into a partially upright position. His hands and feet were numb, but there was a little give in the ropes which held his hands and he moved them steadily. The circulation returned to his aching arms. For a time Chuck had hopes of freeing his hands, but he had to give up in defeat and he rolled back onto the floor.

Hours passed before he heard the sound of horses and a few minutes later two riders dismounted within a few feet of the lean-to. He could hear their voices plainly. One he recognized as that of Hack Cook and the other, though familiar, he could not identify.

“Where’s the kid?” he heard the unknown ask.

“Tied up on the floor of the lean-to. He’s got a back nick in his head where one of our bullets grazed him last night.”

Well, that was something. Chuck knew that the raid had taken place only the night before and from the waning sunlight, it must be late afternoon.

The door of the lean-to opened and two masked men entered. The first one he knew was the owner of the Diamond Dot, but the second he could not identify.

Hack Cook bent down and looked at Chuck’s throbbing head.

“He ain’t hurt much. Couple of days and he’ll never know he was hit.”

“I’ll say he won’t,” put in the other rustler. “In a couple of more days he’ll not care what happens. I’m positive this kid and that Slim Evans are cattle dicks.”

“We searched Meade but didn’t find a thing,” replied Cook.

“Makes no difference. These boys are too dangerous to have loose on the range. Why Evans was within a few minutes of you when you were riding in the foothills of the Three Soldiers after you failed to bump off old man Marks. If it hadn’t been for that rain, he’d have gotten you sure.

“Another thing, he’s looking for a man that rides a horse with a shoe that’s got a V-shaped nick.”

“I fixed that,” growled Cook. “Had Doug Huston file a nick on one of the shoes of Meade’s horse and we filed a couple on the horses of the other boys. Say, there’s so many V-shaped nicks making tracks around this valley that the fellow who tries to follow all of them will go crazy.”

“Then let’s hope that Evans tries to follow them all. That fellow’s just plain dynamite.”

Chuck was hungry and he spoke up.

“How about something to eat?” he asked.

“Not tonight. We haven’t got any grub with us. Maybe we’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Then give me a drink.”

Cook laughed harshly. “It’ll do you good to get thirsty. Give you an idea of what we’re going to do with you when we have time.”

They stepped outside and slammed the door. Chuck could hear them conversing outside.

“When are you going to ship the cattle?” asked the unidentified rustler.

“Day after tomorrow. Can’t get cars until then,” replied Cook.

“Well, keep a close eye on Meade. I’m going back to Dirty Water. After the cattle are safely out I’ll come back and we’ll decide just how we’ll dispose of this fellow.”

They mounted their horses and rode rapidly away, leaving Chuck alone, without food or water. The air grew chill, and he spent a miserable night.

It was mid morning when he heard a lone rider coming toward the cabin. The horseman dismounted and opened the door. Like the visitors of the day before he was masked, but he had a jug of water and some food. He untied the ropes that bound Chuck’s hands and, gun in hand, squatted on the other side of the lean-to while Chuck wolfed the food. His lips were cracked from lack of water and his stomach ached with a great emptiness, but the coarse food soon gave him new energy. If the masked rustler would only come close enough for him to lunge. Chuck eyed the distance with a calculating eye.

“Turn around,” commanded the gunman. Chuck was forced to obey, and the rope was slipped over his hands again. The lean-to was in semi-darkness and Chuck managed to tense his hands. Perhaps there would be a little slack when the rustler finished tying the knots.

Chuck was hurled over on his back and the rustler slammed the door and rode away. It was not until Chuck was sure that he was quite alone again, that he renewed his attempt to loosen his bonds. The rope around his wrists gave slightly and he worked steadily, straining against the bonds. Night came and in spite of himself he fell asleep.

At dawn he was at the painful task again, straining and tugging, and making a little progress all of the time. At last his left hand slipped free, then his right, and with shaking fingers he untied the knots that had held his legs fast.

His legs were so numb that he was forced to crawl out of the lean-to on his hands and knees. Once outside he rested in the bright sunlight, blinking his eyes against the unaccustomed light. He massaged the muscles of his legs until the circulation was back to normal and then he stood up. It was great to be free again.

At a nearby stream Chuck washed his face and hands and gingerly felt of the wound on his head. Nature had done a good job of healing it and unless he got another severe bump, it should heal all right.

Chuck took time to survey his prison. The cabin and lean-to were in the heart of the Cajons, an old trail leading away to the left. It was along this that the rustlers who had visited the cabin traveled. There appeared to be no other exit from the valley and Chuck set out along the trail, walking carefully.

For better than a mile he followed the winding path. Then it opened suddenly into a wider valley and Chuck looked down on the hiding place of the rustlers of the Creeping Shadows.

There was plenty of water here and lots of rich grass. A large pole corral had been built near the far end of the valley where the mountains closed in again. Down there was also a large cabin. The whole valley appeared deserted except for a calico cayuse which was in a smaller corral. Chuck’s heart leaped as he recognized his own horse.

Keeping under shelter as much as possible he made his way down the valley. The entire layout was deserted and he entered the cabin. His saddle and rifle as well as six-gun were piled against one wall and with eager hands Chuck fastened the gun belt around his waist. There was food in the cabin and he soon had a good meal. Rifle in hand and saddle over one shoulder, he started for the corral. Refreshed by the food, he was ready to hit the road.

The dusty trail leading out of the larger corral indicated that a small herd of cattle had been driven out of it a short time before and Chuck picked up the trail and followed it, angling always a little to the left.

A few minutes later the smaller trail joined the one Slim had followed through the mountains, the path the rustlers used in running the cattle out of the Creeping Shadows over to the railroad. Chuck had stumbled on the hiding place where they held the stolen livestock until time to ship them out from the railroad.

Still following the trail of the cattle, Chuck swung toward the railroad. He rode steadily, ever watchful lest he run into another trap of the rustlers. At noon he was well down the east side of the Cajons and he saw the local freight pulling down the main line and stop, but he was still some miles away, too great a distance to see what happened after the freight stopped.

Chuck spurred his cayuse into a full gallop, rocketing down out of the Cajon foothills. The trail straightened out and a lone rider, coming at a furious pace, came into sight.

Chuck swung his cayuse off the trail, slid from the saddle, and found shelter behind a rock. The oncoming rider had been too busy looking behind him to see Chuck.

It was Hack Cook, owner of the Diamond Dot. Then Slim galloped into view and Chuck snuggled his cheek down against the butt of his rifle and voted himself a large-sized share of the chase.

Much as he knew the rustler deserved to be shot down without mercy, Chuck couldn’t quite bring himself to that. Lining his sights on the oncoming rider, he pressed the trigger. There was a tiny spurt of smoke from the rifle and Hack Cook catapulted from the saddle, drilled neatly through the right shoulder.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Confession

Slim rode easily, keeping the fleeing owner of the Diamond Dot within sight. They pushed deeper into the Cajon foothills and Slim knew that Cook’s horse would soon commence to slow down under the pace, which was gruelling for the average range horse.

In desperation Cook dismounted and unlimbered his rifle but Slim, sensing the move before the rustler had found cover, dropped out of his saddle and fired rapidly at the Diamond Dot man. Cook was beaten at his own game and he leaped back into the saddle to continue the race against certain capture.

If he could only hold out until nightfall there was just a chance that he could escape, but Slim had no intention of allowing the rustler to do that. He was closing the gap steadily when the trail opened into a long, narrow defile in the mountains.

Cook spurred his tiring horse madly, while Slim gave Lightning her head. It was a good place to end the chase. He slipped his rifle out of the scabbard and lined up the sights. Before he could raise the weapon to his shoulder he saw Cook topple from his saddle to lie motionless along the trail.

Slim pulled Lightning up sharply. Perhaps it was a trick of the rustler’s, a ruse to bring him within sure range.

Slim dismounted and moved forward warily, his rifle ready for instant use. Then the echo of hoofs warned him of the approach of another rider and up ahead Chuck burst into view on his calico cayuse. It was then that Slim knew Cook’s fall from the saddle was no ruse. He had been shot down by Chuck, who had suddenly voted himself a hand in the play.

The Flying Arrow cowboy was the first to reach the wounded rustler. Cook was still dazed from the shock of the wound and the fall, but he was not seriously injured. Relieving him of his weapons, Slim looked up just as Chuck arrived in a thunder of drumming hoofs and a cloud of dust.

“Where under the sun did you come from?” demanded the astonished Slim.

“I’ll tell you all about that later. Did I get that skunk?” Chuck pointed toward the rustler.

“Through the right shoulder,” nodded Slim. “If you hadn’t cut in on the play when you did, I was figuring on stopping his travels in about another second.”

“Yeh, but I owed him a little more than you did. What’s happened since I did the disappearing act?”

“We had a little fireworks along the railroad this afternoon,” smiled Slim. “Seemed a half dozen hombres were shipping some Box B cattle under another name and we put a stop to it.”

“Did you get them all?”

“Counting Cook here, they’re all in the bag.”

“That must just about clean out the gang,” said Chuck.

“There’s a few more, but we’ll round them up in time.”

“I’ve got a score to settle with one of them,” said Chuck, relating briefly how he had been held captive. He was especially incensed at his treatment at the hands of the masked man who had accompanied Hack Cook on the visit of the Diamond Dot owner to the hideout where he had been held captive.

“I’m going to find out who that fellow was,” went on Chuck.

“I think I know,” put in Slim, “but if you can get Cook to tell you, so much the better.”

They bent over the rustler, who was now thoroughly aware of his dangerous situation. Slim tore off a piece of Cook’s shirt and bound up the shoulder wound.

“Give me a drink of water,” the rustler begged.

“Not on your life,” snapped Chuck. “You fellows didn’t treat me any too well. I want to know the name of the hombre that was with you.”

Cook’s face whitened, but his lips tensed and he only shook his head.

“So that’s the way it is,” said Chuck grimly. “Believe me, you’re going to talk.”

The Circle Four cowboy took the rope off his saddle and deftly slipped a noose around Cook’s shoulders.

“What are you going to do?” demanded Slim, who wasn’t sure whether Chuck was in earnest or was merely trying to scare the rustler.

“I’m going to drag the information I want out of this cheap desperado,” replied the cowboy detective.

Chuck walked toward his horse, straightened the rope out after him. Cook attempted to free himself, but Chuck had done a neat job.

The Circle Four cowboy mounted his cayuse and turned back to Cook.

“There’s one more chance. Who was with you?”

Still the rustler’s lips were sealed and with a warning glance at Slim not to interfere, Chuck spoke to his horse. The cayuse moved ahead and the rope tightened.

A startled cry broke from Cook’s lips.

“I’ll talk!” he screamed, “I’ll talk! Don’t drag me over these rocks.”

Chuck dismounted.

“I thought it would work,” he grinned at Slim. “This fellow’s yellow clear through.”

The cowboy detectives bent over Cook.

“Talk fast,” Chuck warned him. “If you don’t I’ll take you for a real ride.”

Cook moistened his lips. It was plain that he was reluctant to talk and only Chuck’s threat of a terrible punishment had loosened his tongue.

“It was Titzell,” he muttered. “Titzell got us into this jam. He was too greedy. He wanted everything.”

Slim looked at Chuck. He had been right. Titzell was the leader of the rustlers. Disguised as a cattle buyer, he had ridden the length and breadth of the valley, spotting choice stock to be run off by the gang later.

“Who else is in the gang?” insisted the relentless Chuck.

“They’ll kill me if they learn I’ve squealed,” begged Cook.

“If you don’t talk, they’ll never see you again,” promised Slim.

“There’s Maxie Denkman and Leo Kovec and Newt Bemis, besides the boys on my own place.”

“How many have you got there?”

“Ten altogether, but you got four of them and Newt Bemis when you jumped us at the train.”

“That leaves six more Diamond Dot riders, plus Maxie Denkman and the marshal at Dirty Water,” said Slim. “Maxie’s out of the way, because I put a slug in his elbow when he tried that ambush on the Sky High trail.”

“Where’s the other six?” demanded Chuck.

“Two of the boys are watching the Sky High trail, two of them are over on the trail through the Three Soldiers and the last two are on the trail from the valley south.”

“Think he’s telling the truth?” Chuck asked.

The tall cowboy nodded and walked over and picked up Cook’s rifle. Calmly he fired a bullet into the ground and then picked up the spent shell. He produced another cartridge from an inner pocket and compared the firing pin marks on the base of the shell.

“I guess your days are numbered,” he told Cook when he turned back. “The shell from your gun corresponds exactly with one I found at the scene of the ambush of Adam Marks and your horse has the same V-shaped nick on the left rear shoe.”

“There’s marks like that all over the range. That don’t prove anything.”

“Oh yes, it does. Remember that I’ll testify I heard you and Titzell talking about that in the cabin and you figured you were pretty smart to file marks like that on a number of shoes.”

Chuck’s words crushed the last resistance in the rustler.

It was twilight when the first of the Box B riders came up the trail. Pat Beals was ahead and the cowboy detectives placed Hack Cook in his hands for safekeeping.

“Where you going?” Pat demanded.

“To finish the job of cleaning up this gang of rustlers,” said Slim. “We’ll see you tomorrow sometime at the ranch.”

Before Pat could protest, Slim and Chuck spurred away up the trail, determined to strike fast and hard at the rest of the rustlers.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Showdown

The sky was clear that night and the trail through the Cajons was easy to follow. They stopped at the rustlers’ hideout and cooked a late supper.

“I’ve got a little errand to do,” said Chuck, leaving the campfire. He mounted and disappeared up the sidetrail. A few minutes later Slim saw tongues of flame licking above the tree tops. Chuck had set fire to the cabin where he had been held captive.

Before they left, they got an axe from the main cabin and chopped away the main poles of the corral. Then, fastening ropes on the other poles, they pulled the whole structure down. Again a match was touched to the corral and cabin and flames licked hungrily at the dry wood.

“There’ll be no more use of this layout by rustlers,” said Chuck grimly.

From then on they rode at an easy pace for it was useless to attempt to reach Dirty Water before morning. Stopping at the line camp, they found Lee Wu keeping guard and the cook rustled them an early breakfast.

They told him briefly of what had happened at the railroad and how they had set fire to the rustlers’ hideout.

“Plenty good,” the Chinaman grinned, giving them extra portions of bacon. “Plenty good.”

Before they left the line camp, Slim wrote a note to Joe Haines. He had slipped badly, having forgotten to tell Pat Beals that rustlers were still stationed on three trails leading out of the valley.

It was this information he left in the note, urging Joe to send riders out at once to capture the other rustlers.

Then Slim and Chuck pressed on. Dawn found them nearing Dirty Water and the village was just beginning to show signs of life when they rode across the creek and tied their horses at the rail in front of the Palace Hotel.

“They eat early here,” said Slim. “You stay outside and be ready to take care of any of the boys who decide to get away in a hurry.”

“You’re not going into the hotel alone,” protested Chuck.

“I’m going to do that very thing,” said Slim with a definiteness that Chuck knew was final. “I’m counting on you to discourage them if they get outside. Remember, we want Hal Titzell, Leo Kovec and Maxie Denkman.”

“I’ll remember,” promised Chuck.

Slim looked up and down the street. Pike Carberry and Jim Ferris were coming down from Carberry’s store for breakfast at the hotel. They greeted Slim cordially.

“Better not go in to breakfast just yet,” said Slim.

“Why not?” asked Carberry.

“There may be trouble,” replied the cowboy detective. “Just wait a bit.”

Jim Ferris looked around at Chuck, who was lounging nearby with his rifle in his hands.

“He’s right,” he advised the storekeeper. “I’ll be satisfied with cheese and crackers. Come on.”

They turned and hurried back to the store and Slim stepped into the small lobby of the hotel. Sounds from the dining room indicated that breakfast was in progress.

Slim took off his hat and pinned the small shield that had been hidden there on his vest. Then he walked into the dining room. There were four men at the long table, the hotel owner at the head with Hal Titzell at his right. On the other side were Leo Kovec and Maxie Denkman and Maxie, with his wounded arm, was making a poor job of eating the hot cereal.

Titzell looked up as Slim entered.

“Hello, there. What’s the news from the wide open spaces?”

“Plenty,” said Slim easily. Then Titzell’s eyes caught the gleam of the small shield on Slim’s vest and the smile vanished. In its place came an expression of repressed fury and alarm.

“Seems as though some of the Diamond Dot boys were caught trying to ship some Box B cattle yesterday afternoon,” said Slim.

Maxie Denkman sneezed into the cereal and Leo Kovec let his fork drop with a clatter.

“Anybody hurt?” asked Titzell, his voice low and tense.

“Plenty of the Diamond Dot boys and it seems as though I recall seeing a friend of yours being shot out of the saddle.”

“Who was that?” asked Maxie.

“Newt Bemis.” Slim’s eyes never left Titzell for he knew that if there were to be fireworks, Titzell would start the trouble.

But Titzell never batted an eye and Slim gave him another shock.

“Hack Cook was taken, too. Hack talked.”

That touched off the fuse. Titzell knew then that Slim had come to take him. With a leap he was clear of the table, his right hand sweeping toward the shoulder holster.

But Slim had anticipated the move. As Titzell clawed the gun from his holster, the explosion of Slim’s gun echoed through the hotel and Titzell’s weapon spun across the room.

The hotel owner made a dive for safety beneath his table while Leo Kovec plunged through the window. Only Maxie Denkman remained seated.

“I know when I’ve had enough,” he said. “You can count me out.”

From outside came the report of a rifle and Slim knew that Chuck had gone into action. There was no answering shot and Slim figured that Kovec would cause no more trouble.

Titzell was holding his right hand, numbed by the shock of Slim’s bullet.

“Get outside,” commanded the cowboy detective and Maxie followed Titzell out.

There they found that Chuck was sitting astride Kovec, the marshal groveling in the sand.

“I just took one shot at him,” Chuck grinned, “and he thought he was hit sure. Gosh, to think that I missed at only fifty yards!”

Residents of Dirty Water crowded around them, seeking an explanation, but Slim refused to tell them what had taken place. Chuck stood guard over the prisoners, while Slim went around to the stable and ordered the hostler to saddle three horses. A short time later the three rustlers, with Slim and Chuck riding close behind, started the journey to the Box B.

Titzell and Denkman were silent, but Kovec talked volubly. He was scared to death and Slim took advantage of this fear. From a saddle bag he pulled the gun which Chuck had found outside Doc Baldridge’s office the night a second attempt had been made to kill the owner of the Box B.

“Recognize this gun?” he asked.

“It belongs to Titzell. He said he lost it.”

“Shut up!” The cattle buyer roared at Kovec, but it was too late. Slim knew all that was necessary. He had all of the evidence needed to put Titzell and the Diamond Dot riders behind the bars for a long, long time.

When they reached the Box B, they found Bill Needham waiting to greet them.

“Great work, boys,” he said, as they rode up. “You’ve certainly cleared out the rustlers in the Creeping Shadows.”

“We’ve got the evidence, but you’ll have to prove the case in court against them,” said Slim.

“I’ll do that all right,” said Old Bill. “I’ve been talking with Hack Cook and he’s given me a full account under oath. Titzell’s the big gun in this whole thing. He came in when Cook was just about ready to fold up and between the two of them they figured that if they could steal enough cattle and get the Double O and the Box B fighting each other, they’d have a good chance to step in and grab both ranches cheap.”

Joe Haines came down from the ranch house. “The boss wants to see you,” he said.

“Any of the Box B or Double O boys get hurt much?” asked Slim.

“Al Bass has a flesh wound and so has another one of the Double O riders and Doug Huston’s disappeared.”

“Yeh, I should think he would,” said Chuck. “He was hand in glove with this outfit. He was the guy who roped Slim that night down at the corral and left him tied up by the creek. Doug kept the gang tipped off to everything the Box B was doing.”

“You mean almost everything,” put in Slim.

They found Adam Marks almost recovered and from him they received heartfelt thanks for their fine work.

Nels Anderson was waiting for them outside. “By gar, boys,” he roared. “Anytime you need help, just let Nels know. I’ll come a-runnin’.”

Box B and Double O riders had gone out to round up the last of the rustlers who had been guarding the main trails into the valley and the end was rapidly being written on the feud which had threatened for a time to disrupt the entire valley. There was nothing more that Slim and Chuck needed to do and after a hearty dinner at the cookhouse, where Lee Wu was once more presiding over the pots and pans, they mounted and rode down the trail toward Dirty Water. Behind them they left the shouted farewells of the Box B and Double O cowboys and a promise from Bill Needham that he would call on them again when a knotty mystery confronted him.

They circled Dirty Water, for they had no desire to give a long explanation of their activities, and continued on toward the Sky High trail. A few miles further on they met Walt Kelly and a Double O rider coming down with the two rustlers who had been stationed to guard the trail. The way in and out of the valley was open once more.

By sundown they were well along the trail. Turning in their saddles they looked back on the Creeping Shadows country. Night was already stealing out of the majestic valleys of the Three Soldiers and peace once more ruled the valley.

They turned their horses up the trail, wondering what new adventures might be in store for them with the coming days.

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Transcriber's note:

1. Copyright notice provided as in the original printed
text--this e-text is public domain in the country of
publication.

2. Obvious typographical errors were corrected.

3. Dialect and non-standard spellings were not changed.