The Fight in the Cache
showed no revolver, but a hammerless or muley Savage rifle hung beside his pommel.
Du Sang, blinking, spoke first: “Which of you fellows is heading this round-up?”
“I am heading the round-up,” said Whispering Smith. “Why? Have we got some of your cattle?”
The two men spoke as quietly as school-teachers. Whispering Smith’s expression in no way changed, except that as he spoke he lifted his eyebrows a little more than usual.
Du Sang looked at him closely as he went on: “What kind of a way is this to treat anybody? To ride into a valley like this and drive a man’s cows away from his door without notice or papers? Is your name Smith?”
“My name is Smith; yours is Du Sang. Yes, I’ll tell you, Du Sang. I carry an inspector’s card from the Mountain Stock Association—do you want to see it? When we get these cattle to the Door, any man in the Cache may come forward and prove his property. I shall leave instructions to that effect when we go, for I want you to go to Medicine Bend with me, Du Sang, as soon as convenient, and the men that are with me will finish the round-up.”
“What do you want me for? There’s no papers out against me, is there?”
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