more like hobbles."

So we didn't say nothin' more about that neither, until just by
luck we came on another lame cow. We threw her, too.

"Well, what do you think of this one?" Buck Johnson asks me.

"The feet is pretty well tore up," says I, "and down to the
quick, but I've seen them tore up just as bad on the rocks when
they come down out of the mountains."

You sabe what that meant, don't you? You see, a rustler will
take a cow and hobble her, or lame her so she can't follow, and
then he'll take her calf a long ways off and brand it with his
iron. Of course, if we was to see a calf of one brand followin'
of a cow with another, it would be just too easy to guess what
had happened.

We rode on mighty thoughtful. There couldn't be much doubt that
cattle rustlers was at work. The sleepers they had ear-marked,
hopin' that no one would discover the lack of a brand. Then,
after the calf was weaned, and quit followin' of his mother, the
rustler would brand it with his own iron, and change its ear-mark
to match. It made a nice, easy way of gettin' together a bunch
of cattle cheap.

But it was pretty hard to guess off-hand who the rustlers might
be. There were a lot of renegades down towards the Mexican
line who made a raid once in a while, and a few oilers [2] livin'
near had water holes in the foothills, and any amount of little