The sun had nearly set when we galloped into Bob Quirk's camp.
Halting only long enough to advise my brother of the escape of Tolleston and his joining the common enemy, I asked him to throw any pursuit off our trail, as I proposed breaking camp that evening.Seay and myself put behind us the few miles between the two wagons, and dashed up to mine just as the outfit were corralling the remuda for night-horses.Orders rang out, and instead of catching our regular guard mounts, the boys picked the best horses in their strings.The cattle were then nearly a mile north of camp, coming in slowly towards the bed-ground, but a half-dozen of us rushed away to relieve the men on herd and turn the beeves back.The work-mules were harnessed in, and as soon as the relieved herders secured mounts, our camp of the past few days was abandoned.The twilight of evening was upon us, and to the rattling of the heavily loaded wagon and the shouting of the wrangler in our rear were added the old herd songs.The cattle, without trail or trace to follow, and fit ransom for a dozen kings in pagan ages, moved north as if imbued with the spirit of the occasion.
A fair moon favored us.The night was an ideal one for work, and about twelve o'clock we bedded down the herd and waited for dawn.
As we expected to move again with the first sign of day, no one cared to sleep; our nerves were under a high tension with expectation of what the coming day might bring forth.Our location was an unknown quantity.All agreed that we were fully ten miles north of the Saw Log, and, with the best reasoning at my command, outside the jurisdiction of Ford County.The regular trail leading north was some six or eight miles to the west, and fearful that we had not reached unorganized territory, I was determined to push farther on our course before veering to the left.The night halt, however, afforded us an opportunity to compare notes and arrive at some definite understanding as to the programme of the forthcoming day."Quirk, you missed the sight of your life," said Jake Blair, as we dismounted around the wagon, after bedding the cattle, "by not being there when the discovery was made that these 'Open A's' were Don Lovell's cattle.Tolleston, of course, made the discovery; but I think he must have smelt the rat in advance.Archie and the buyers arrived for a late dinner, and several times Tolleston ran his eye over one of the boys and asked, 'Haven't I met you somewhere?' but none of them could recall the meeting.Then he got to nosing around the wagon and noticing every horse about camp.The road-brand on the cattle threw him off the scent just for a second, but when he began reading the ranch-brands, he took a new hold.As he looked over the remuda, the scent seemed to get stronger, and when he noticed the 'Circle Dot' on those work-mules, he opened up and bayed as if he had treed something.
And sure enough he had; for you know, Tom, those calico lead mules belonged in his team last year, and he sw&re he'd know them in hell, brand or no brand.When Archie announced the outfit, lock, stock, and barrel, as belonging to Don Lovell, the old buyers turned pale as ghosts, and the fat one took off his hat and fanned himself.That act alone was worth the price of admission.But when we boys were appealed to, we were innocent and likewise ignorant, claiming that we always understood that the herd belonged to the Marshall estate, but then we were just common hands and not supposed to know the facts in the case.
Tolleston argued one way, and we all pulled the other, so they drove away, looking as if they hoped it wasn't true.But it was the sight of your life to see that fat fellow fan himself as he kept repeating, 'I thought you boys hurried too much in buying these cattle.'
The guards changed hourly.No fire was allowed, but Parent set out all the cold food available, and supplementing this with canned goods, we had a midnight lunch.Dorg Seay regaled the outfit with his recent experience, concealing nothing, and regretfully admitting that his charge had escaped before the work was finished.A programme was outlined for the morrow, the main feature of which was that, in case of pursuit, we would all tell the same story.Dawn came between three and four on those June mornings, and with the first streak of gray in the east we divided the outfit and mounted our horses, part riding to push the cattle off their beds and the others to round in the remuda.
Before the herd had grazed out a half-mile, we were overtaken by half the outfit on fresh mounts, who at once took charge of the herd.When the relieved men had secured horses, I remained behind and assisted in harnessing in the team and gathering the saddle stock, a number of which were missed for lack of proper light.
With the wagon once started, Levering and myself soon had the full remuda in hand and were bringing up the rear in a long, swinging trot.Before the sun peeped over the eastern horizon, we passed the herd and overtook the wagon, which was bumping along over the uneven prairie.Ordering the cook to have breakfast awaiting us beyond a divide which crossed our front, I turned back to the herd, now strung out in regular trailing form.The halt ahead would put us full fifteen miles north of our camp on the Saw Log.An hour later, as we were scaling the divide, one of the point-men sighted a posse in our rear, coming after us like fiends.I was riding in the swing at the time, the herd being strung out fully a mile, and on catching first sight of the pursuers, turned and hurried to the rear.To my agreeable surprise, instead of a sheriff's posse, my brother and five of his men galloped up and overtook us.
