herd. Kind of them, ain't it?"

"Sort of kind. All I hear is rustlers." I replied with impatience. "You
see, I haven't ever lived long in a rustler-run county. Who heads the
gang anyway?"

Frank Morton looked at me with a curiously-amused smile.

"I hear lots about Jack Blome and Snecker. Everybody calls them out and
out bad. Do they head this mysterious gang?"

"Russ, I opine Blome an' Snecker parade themselves off boss rustlers
same as gun throwers. But thet's the love such men have for bein'
thought hell. That's brains headin' the rustler gang hereabouts."

"Maybe Blome and Snecker are blinds. Savvy what I mean, Morton? Maybe
there's more in the parade than just the fame of it."

Morton snapped his big jaw as if to shut in impulsive words.

"Look here, Morton. I'm not so young in years even if I am young west of
the Pecos. I can figure ahead. It stands to reason, no matter how damn
strong these rustlers are, how hidden their work, however involved with
supposedly honest men--they can't last."

"They come with the pioneers an' they'll last as long as thar's a single
steer left," he declared.

"Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figure you as one
of the rustlers!"