One day Bud rode up to Ted with a very serious face, so unusual a thing
that Ted looked at him with a grin.
"What's the grouch about now, Bud?" he asked.
"I ain't got no grouch," answered Bud.
"No? You look as if some one had handed you a lemon."
"No lemons in mine, but I jest got a hunch that this yere outfit is
being follered, an' that thar's some dirty work doin'."
"What makes you think that?"
"I found a couple o' dead steers back a bit with our brand on them."
"Great Scott! What seemed the matter with them?"
"All swelled up."
"Poison?"
"That's what makes them swell up. There's no disease in ther herd, what
I kin diskiver. All healthy enough. But some o' them is showin' signs o'
loco, an' thar ain't no loco weed on this range."
"That's mighty strange. I hadn't noticed it. What do you think of it?"
"I believe that dog Woofer is follerin' us, an' has been spreadin'
poison o' some kind on ther range what either kills or makes ther steers
crazy."
"If that is true, it is the most serious thing that has come our way in
a long time. It wouldn't take much of that sort of work to put the whole
bunch out of business and leave us with not enough cattle to pay to
drive back to the road."
"That's right. We'd be in a pretty fix with the best o' our herd rottin'
out here on the prairie.
Pages:
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335