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.He had ridden in to the ranchhouse some weeks ago, found Ruth sitting on the porch, announced that he was “quittin’” and wanted his “time.” She did not ask him why he wanted to quit so pleased was she with his decision, but he advanced an explanation while she counted the money due him.“Things don’t suit me here,” he said venomously.“Randerson is too fresh.” He looked at her impudently.“Besides,” he added, “he stands in too well with the boss.”She flushed with indignation.“You wouldn’t dare say that to him!” she declared.He reddened darkly.“Meanin’ what he done to Pickett, I reckon,” he sneered.“Well, Randerson will be gettin’ his’n some day, too!”Ruth remembered this conversation, and on a day about a month later when she had gone riding alone, she saw Randerson at a distance and rode toward him to tell him, for she had meant to, many times.Evidently Randerson had seen her, too, for he had already altered his pony’s course when she wheeled hers.When their ponies came to a halt near each other it was Randerson who spoke first.He looked at her unsmilingly over his pony’s head.“I was ridin’ in to the house to see you, ma’am.I thought you ought to know.This mornin’ the boys found two cows with their hoofs burned, an’ their calves run off.”“Their hoofs burned!” she exclaimed.“Why, who would be so inhuman as to do that? But I suppose there was a fire somewhere, and it happened that way.”“There was a fire, all right,” he said grimly.“Some one built it, on purpose.It was rustlers, ma’am.They burned the hoofs of the mothers so the mothers couldn’t follow when they drove their calves off—like any mother would.” He eyed her calmly.“I reckon it was Chavis, ma’am.He’s got a shack down the crick a ways.He’s been there ever since you paid him off.An’ this mornin’ two of the boys told me they wanted their time.I was goin’ in to get it for them.It’s likely they’re goin’ to join Chavis.”“Well, let them,” she said indignantly.“If they are that kind of men, we don’t want them around!”He smiled now for the first time.“I reckon there ain’t no way to stop them from goin’, ma’am.An’ we sure don’t want them around.But when they go with Chavis, it’s mighty likely that we’ll miss more cattle.”She stiffened.“Come with me,” she ordered; “they shall have their money right away.”She urged her pony on, and he fell in beside her, keeping his animal’s muzzle near her stirrup.For he was merely an employee and was filled with respect for her.“I suppose I could have Chavis charged with stealing those two calves?” she asked, as they rode.She looked back over her shoulder at him and slowed her pony down so that he came alongside.“Why, yes, ma’am, I reckon you could.You could charge him with stealin’ them.But that wouldn’t prove it.We ain’t got any evidence, you see.We found the cows, with the calves gone.We know that Chavis is in the country, but we didn’t see him doin’ the stealin’; we only think he done it.”“If I should complain to the sheriff?”“You could do that, ma’am.But I reckon it’s a waste of time.”“How?”“Well, you see, ma’am, the sheriff in this county don’t amount to a heap—considered as a sheriff.He mostly draws his salary an’ keeps out of trouble, much as he can.There ain’t no court in the county nearer than Las Vegas, an’ that’s a hundred an’ fifty miles from here.An’, mostly, the court don’t want to be bothered with hearin’ rustler cases—there bein’ no regular law governin’ them, an’ conviction bein’ hard to get.So the sheriff don’t bother.”“But there must be some way to stop them from stealing!” she said sharply.“I reckon there’s a way, ma’am.” And now she heard him laugh, quietly, and again she turned and looked at him.His face grew grave again, instantly.“But I reckon you wouldn’t approve of it, ma’am,” he added.“I would approve of most any method of stopping them—within reason!” she declared vindictively, nettled by his tone.“We mostly hang them, ma’am,” he said.“That’s a sure way of stoppin’ them.”She shuddered.“Do you mean that you hang them without a court verdict—on your own responsibility?”“That’s the way, ma’am.”“But doesn’t the sheriff punish men who hang others in that manner?” she went on in tones of horror.His voice was quietly humorous.“Them sort of hangin’s ain’t advertised a heap.It’s hard to find anybody that will admit he had a hand in it.Nobody knows anything about it.But it’s done, an’ can’t be undone.An’ the rustlin’ stops mighty sudden.”“Oh,” she exclaimed, “what a barbarous custom!”“I reckon it ain’t exactly barbarous, ma’am,” he contended mildly.“Would you have the rustlers go on stealin’ forever, an’ not try to stop them?”“There are the courts,” she insisted.“Turnin’ rustlers off scot-free, ma’am.They can’t hold them.An’ if a rustler is hung, he don’t get any more than is comin’ to him
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