Slim Evans and His Horse Lightning

Slim waited impatiently as the rider on Lightning pressed on up the valley toward them. At three hundred yards his finger pressed gently on the trigger of his Winchester.

“Better wait a bit longer,” counseled Chuck. “You might miss at this range.”

Slim snorted. “I’ve got him lined between my sights right now. That guy is one horse thief that isn’t going to get away.”

But Slim took Chuck’s advice and the tension of his finger on the trigger lessened. The target loomed larger, for the man riding Lightning was heavy and of large stature.

Rider and horse drew nearer, the second horse trailing Lightning by a few feet. It was then that Slim noticed that the rifle of the rider on Lightning was in the scabbard on the saddle of the second horse. If he shot now, it would be at a man armed at the most with only a six shooter and one unable to answer him on even terms. Slim knew that the horse thief didn’t deserve such consideration, but in spite of his rage at losing Lightning he couldn’t bring himself to shoot a man in cold blood.

He dropped his rifle in disgust. “That fellow hasn’t anything within reach but a six gun. I can’t take a shot at him at this distance.”

“What you going to do?” queried Chuck.

“Wait until he comes up close and then step out and hail him. If he goes for his six gun, we’ll be on equal terms.”

“I don’t know about that. Seems to me you ought to be kind of handy with that six shooter of yours. You’ve got long arms and long hands and your gun is hung just right for fast action.”

“I can make it talk,” agreed Slim, his narrowed eyes watching the approach of the rider, now almost within hailing distance. If he continued on the trail, he would pass within three rods of the two cowboys.

Chuck looked down at his aching feet.

“Gosh, but it’s going to seem good to swing back into a saddle. I’ve walked more today than in years.”

“You’ll be riding again in about five minutes, cowboy,” said Slim. “This fellow is coming right into the center of a real unpleasant surprise party.”

Slim shifted from his crouching position behind the fallen tree and made sure that his gun was free in the holster. There was a good chance that he would need it in a hurry.

The rider on Lightning was within a hundred yards of them when Slim stood up and waited quietly beside the trail. The horseman came on swiftly, unaware of the incensed cowboys who were awaiting him.

Suddenly Slim shifted his plans. He knew a bloodless but not altogether painless way to capture the rider. Placing two fingers between his lips, he sent a shrill, penetrating whistle ringing down the valley.

Lightning stopped suddenly, poised like a statue. Again the sharp whistle came from Slim’s lips while Chuck watched in open-mouthed astonishment.

Lightning whirled into action. The big sorrel left the ground in a wild, twisting buck that caught her rider unawares. Lightning almost swapped ends and came down in a rocking, jarring crash that sent the unknown rider sprawling through the air to land with a thud at one side of the trail.

Then the sorrel raced toward Slim, whinnying in sheer delight at discovering her master again.

Chuck ran down the trail to the side of the fallen rider while Slim swung onto Lightning. The sorrel fairly danced with pleasure over the reunion and Slim reached down and stroked the beautiful mane with gentle hands.

“Gosh, Lightning, old girl, it’s good to see you again. Darn me! I thought last night it was all over for us when I heard those bushwhackers riding away. From now on no one rides you but me. Understand?”

Lightning threw up her head in a quick, angry manner that indicated anyone except Slim would have a hard time mounting her.

From down the trail came a sharp cry from Chuck.

“Hey, Slim. Come here and meet your horse thief.”

The Flying Arrow cowboy swung Lightning about and trotted down the trail. Chuck was bending over the fallen man, who was now showing some signs of a returning interest in life.

“Think you can recognize him?” asked Chuck as Slim slipped out of the saddle.

“Why it’s old Bill Needham!” exclaimed Slim. “What under the sun could he have been doing on Lightning?”

Old Bill, tall and powerful of frame, a typical cattleman of the old school, managed to raise his bruised body upon one elbow as he squinted angrily at the two cowboys looking down at him.

“What’s the idea of pulling a stunt like this on me?” he demanded. Then, recognizing Slim as the mists cleared from his ancient eyes, he added. “My gosh, Slim. I was just riding up trail looking for you when that horse of yours set off a stick of dynamite under my saddle. How did it all happen?”

“That’s what we want to know,” said Chuck. “There’s got to be a lot of explaining about some things that took place last night just this side of the divide.”

“Well, well, Chuck. I figured I’d find you somewhere along the trail, but hadn’t counted on you and Slim being together. Know each other pretty well?”

“We ought to. We’ve done better than twenty miles of hoofing it along this trail since sunup. My feet are just about killing me.” Chuck sat down and dragged off his boots, massaging the bottoms of his burning feet with his hands.

“Let’s hear the story, boys,” said Old Bill. “Tell me what happened last night and I’ll tell you how I happened to get hold of Lightning.”

Slim looked at Chuck.

“Everything happened this side of the divide and you were the first over the summit. Start the ball rolling.”

“There’s plenty to tell,” began Chuck. “I’d been taking it fairly easy, figuring on plenty of time to get to the foot of the trail. A little more than a half hour of easy riding this side of the crest of the trail a couple of hombres cut loose on me with rifles.”

“Didn’t they give you any warning?” asked the old cattleman.

“Not a peep until the Winchesters started blazing away. The first thing I knew my horse caved in and pitched me off. I managed to get my rifle and ducked into a side canyon, but it was a trap--no way out. The other two had plenty of shelter behind boulders in that dry wash and they blazed away every time I moved. It was getting along toward dark and looking plenty tough for yours truly when someone else voted himself a hand in the party and cut loose on the bushwhackers from behind.”

Old Bill chuckled. “It isn’t hard to guess who you’re talking about.”

“Well, that changed everything. Slim hit one of them in the elbow and they decided they’d had enough, but on the way out they circled around and stole Slim’s horse.”

“So you started hoofing it down the trail.”

“You mean we started limping down the trail,” said Slim. “These boots of mine were never made for walking and I don’t know when I’ve suffered such agony.”

“That goes for me, too,” said Chuck.

“How about you, Slim? Let’s hear your side of the story,” Old Bill urged.

“There isn’t a whole lot more to tell. I had made camp this side of the summit and was just sitting down to supper when the firing started. I could tell it was two against one so I got my rifle and did a little scouting. When I got down in the wash, I could see they had Chuck penned up and were shooting to kill. I challenged them and they let me have a little lead, so I cut loose. They got away and stole Lightning and I’ve been kind of miserable until you showed up.”

“And say, you don’t know how near death you were a few minutes ago,” Chuck said. “Slim had you lined between his sights and was all set to let you have it. Then he decided he couldn’t kill a man in cold blood.”

“So he just whistled and had Lightning dynamite me right out of the saddle,” chuckled Old Bill. “Maybe the shooting wouldn’t have been so bad after all.” He rubbed his bruised body with exploring fingers. “Danged wonder every bone in my body wasn’t broken.”

“You take your falls hard,” admitted Chuck.

“I want to know where you found Lightning,” said Slim.

“The bushwhackers rode past my camp this afternoon and I recognized Lightning in a minute. I knew you would be riding Lightning on a trip like this and I didn’t waste time nor lead. They were leading Lightning and when I started shooting, she broke away. After what you did to them last night, those fellows didn’t have much stomach for another fight and they took out full gallop for the Creeping Shadows valley. It wasn’t much trouble to round up Lightning for she seemed to remember me a bit from my visits to the Flying Arrow. But boy, when you whistled she forgot all about me. I never saw a horse go up so quick or come down so hard. Don’t ever do that again to me.”

“I never will,” promised Slim, “but it’s a good trick to keep in the bag. If I’d been real smart last night I think I could have stopped Lightning by whistling to her, but I wasn’t thinking very straight. When I heard the bushwhackers galloping off on her I just saw red in about five different shades.”

“Don’t blame you a bit, son,” said Old Bill. “Now let’s get down to the business of making camp and getting some grub. No use of our going to the bottom of the trail tonight. We’ll make camp here and I’ll tell you what I’ve got up my sleeve.”

Slim looked toward Chuck and jerked a thumb.

“What about him?”

“He’s in this thing as deep as you are. Just have a little patience. We’ll eat, then talk. A man can’t think well on an empty stomach.”

They agreed with Old Bill’s simple philosophy and all three set about making camp. Slim took care of Lightning and Old Bill’s horse while Chuck went about rustling an armful of wood.

Old Bill opened his blanket roll and a goodly supply of provisions was revealed, something more than the bitter coffee on which they had tried to satisfy their hunger that day.

A crackling fire was soon going, the bacon broiling and the potatoes frying. There was plenty of bread and a pot of delicious coffee. Slim and Chuck ate to their fill, and Old Bill watched them with twinkling eyes. These were youngsters after his own heart, clean, manly young chaps--able to ride with the best in the west, afraid of nothing, including mountain wildcats. He knew that he could count on them for the work that was ahead.

When they had finished the meal, Slim and Chuck took the few utensils to the nearby stream where they washed them in the cool water. By the time they were back at camp, Old Bill had the blankets spread out, more fuel on the fire, and his pipe going. He was ready to talk, ready to tell them why he had summoned them to meet him so mysteriously on the Sky High trail.

The cowboy from the Flying Arrow and the one from the Circle Four eased their weary bodies down on the blankets and waited for Old Bill to speak. The cattleman shifted his pipe.

“I’ll start in from the first,” he said. “It goes quite a ways back into Wyoming cattle history, but it’s best that you know fully what you’re going into.”

He jerked a thumb in the general direction of the Creeping Shadows country.

“That’s the best cattle country in this part of the west--plenty of rich grass and lots of water that’s good all of the year round. The valley is set down between the Cajons and the Three Soldiers and it’s warmer than most parts of Wyoming in the winter. But it’s tough country to get into--too expensive for a railroad for the amount of business, so the world has sort of forgotten the valley except when the trail herds come out in the fall on the way to the loading yards at Mopstick. The valley is just as tough, maybe a little tougher, than it was thirty years ago when Adam Marks went in and started the Box B. Adam had a fight on his hands then and he’s got one now.”

“So we’re headed for the Box B?” said Slim softly. He had heard his father speak of Adam Marks and the Box B, of the fine grass and water on the range and of the choice cattle the Box B sent to market each fall.

“You two are headed for the Box B,” corrected Old Bill.

“You voting yourself out?” asked Chuck.

“I never voted myself in. Now don’t jump at conclusions. Adam went into the Creeping Shadows country when it was a nest of outlaws. He was honest and clean and he bought his land. He took with him a hard-riding, hard-fighting bunch of punchers that were handy with fist or gun. He cleaned up the valley except the town of Dirty Water and that was too tough even for Adam to fumigate.

“To shorten up the story, Adam prospered. He kept buying more land and increasing his range stock. He was figured a millionaire a couple of times over but the bottom went out of the beef market and then rustling started again and it’s been growing worse the last few months. Adam has lost hundreds of fine cattle and he hasn’t been able to put his finger on the gang responsible.”

“Which means you’ve picked Slim and me to go in and do a little Sherlock Holmes work for you,” interjected Chuck. “How about your regular cattle detectives?”

“I was just getting to that,” said Old Bill a little wearily. “Adam sent word to me that he was in trouble and I sent a good man into the valley. He never came back. Then Adam sent another call to the association for help and I sent another good riding detective, but after a week in the valley with Adam’s boys, he did a disappearing act.”

“Someone scare him?” asked Chuck.

“They were the type that didn’t scare. I think someone shot them just like they attempted to get you yesterday.”

“They’ll have to be a lot better shots than that if they figure on getting me,” snorted Chuck. “They missed me the first time. Say, I could knock an apple off a man’s head at that range ten times out of ten and never touch a hair on his head.”

“That’s one reason I sent word for you to meet me here,” said Old Bill. “Adam Marks is up against a tough proposition. I’ve lost two of my regular detectives on the job. It isn’t that I’m afraid to send them in, but I know it’s pure murder for them if I do. They’re all known. What I need is two fellows who look and act like a couple of gay young buckaroos that don’t have a responsibility in the world and don’t care much where they hang their hats just so there’s a peg handy.

“I picked you boys for several reasons. Slim has done a couple of little jobs for me over near Sunfield and I know he’s got a good head and a cool one. In addition, he’s a dead shot with a six gun. Chuck’s a fine rider and the best man with a rifle I’ve seen in many a year. Slim, your temper is likely to flash a bit too hot at times, but I figure that Chuck being a little slower to fly off the handle will kind of keep a check on you. In other words, you’re my idea of the right kind of a team to send into the Creeping Shadows country and ferret out these rustlers.”

Slim looked across the fire at Chuck, carefully appraising the cowboy from the Circle Four. He had liked Chuck from the very first.

“What do you think about it?” he asked.

“I don’t much like being shot at without warning,” said Chuck, “so you can count me in to see this thing through. I’ve a pretty strong hunch we’ll find the fellows that gave me the lead greeting tangled up with this gang of rustlers.”

“And I’m still mad about Lightning being stolen,” added Slim. “Looks like both of us have a debt to repay those birds in the Creeping Shadows. Count me in.”

“Me too,” added Chuck heartily.

Old Bill smiled broadly. He had felt sure that these youngsters would come through. He reached over to the nearby woodpile and tossed a couple of large sticks on the flames. The fire brightened, chasing the shadows away from the men stretched on the blankets.

“Don’t make a mistake and think this is going to be an easy job,” cautioned Old Bill. “You’ll have to do plenty of hard work and a lot of tough riding. You’re going into this thing alone. Not even Adam Marks will know who you are.”

“Why not?” asked Slim.

“He knew that the other men I sent in were detectives. They never came back.”

“You’re not hinting that Marks is rustling his own cattle?”

“I’m not hinting at a thing,” replied Old Bill sharply. “I’m simply telling you the facts. No one must know you have any possible association with me. That’s why I asked both of you to meet me on this lonely trail.”

“I was ‘met’ all right,” said Chuck.

“That worries me,” said Old Bill. “It makes it a lot harder for you boys. The gang operating in the Creeping Shadows must figure I’ll be sending in more men and have every incoming trail picketed.”

“But they never gave me a chance.”

“This gang won’t.”

“When do you want us to start for the valley?” asked Slim.

Old Bill was silent for a time.

“We’ve got to get a horse for Chuck and new boots for both of you,” he said at last. “Then I’d better get a complete change of clothes for Chuck. That’s a pretty loud shirt he’s wearing and it might be a give-away when he reaches the valley, especially if those hombres got a good look at it. I think you better have your hair cropped close, too, Chuck. That would change your appearance a lot.”

“You mean it would ruin my manly beauty,” howled Chuck. “Who’s going to do all this barbering, anyway?”

“I’ll ride back across the Cajons by another trail I know they won’t be watching, get another horse for you, buy boots for both of you, clothes for Chuck and bring back a pair of hair clippers.”

“While you’re worrying so much about me, what about Slim and Lightning?” Chuck wanted to know.

“They never saw Slim in the daylight and I’ll get a little dye while I’m on the other side and we’ll make Lightning a solid sorrel. That ought to fool them.”

“Better buy me a saddle,” suggested Slim. “My own outfit looks too good for a wandering cowboy.”

“One thing,” grinned Chuck, “we’ll have a couple of days to rest here and let the swelling in our feet go down.”

“That suits me,” agreed Slim. “My main worry was getting Lightning back.”

They talked a few more minutes, then rolled into their blankets as the fire died down. The moon, coming up over the Cajons, looked down on the sleeping camp, and swung on toward the west.

They were out of their blankets at sunup, for Old Bill had a long ride ahead of him.

“Better let one of us make the trip,” suggested Slim.

“I’ll go,” replied the cattleman. “You boys hole up here. I don’t want you chasing around much until you’re all ready to ride into the Creeping Shadows and look for a job on the Box B.”

They all lent a hand in getting breakfast. Then Old Bill got his horse, swung into the saddle, and went off down the trail.

Chuck washed their few dishes while Slim got the camp in shape. When they had completed their tasks, they sat down and contemplated the bright freshness of the morning.

Chuck wiggled his toes gratefully as he looked at his badly worn boots.

“It’s going to be great to have at least a day to loaf and let my feet catch up with the rest of me. Hope Old Bill gets a good fit in boots.”

“Didn’t you give him your size?” asked Slim.

“Gosh, no. I forgot all about that.” Chuck’s face registered real dismay.

“If he gets the largest boots in the store they won’t be any too small,” chuckled Slim as he surveyed Chuck’s broad feet.

“I’ll have no insults cast at my underpinning,” roared the cowboy from the Circle Four, hurling a near-by stick at Slim.

Slim ducked with a grin as the stick whistled by.

“If you feel like throwing things, I’ll be on my way.”

“How come?”

“Don’t forget that I’ve got a horse.”

“But you’re not pulling out?” Chuck was genuinely startled, afraid that Slim had believed him serious when he had tossed the stick.

“I’m pulling out in about five minutes, but I’m only going to ride back up the trail and bring down the saddles we cached yesterday. It will save time when Old Bill returns.”

“You’re right. After the reception we got night before last I’m anxious to get into the Creeping Shadows country and see what it’s all about.”

Slim found Lightning nearby, grazing on a patch of grass that somehow had escaped the searing rays of the July sun. He vaulted onto the beautiful back and ran his fingers through the splendid mane. A queer sob choked his throat as he thought how near he had been to losing forever the horse which had become his companion.

“Let’s go, Lightning.” The voice was low but Lightning pricked up her ears and trotted briskly toward the camp.

Chuck stood up as they approached, openly admiring the beautiful sorrel.

“Tell you what, Slim. If you ever lose your horse again, come on over to the Circle Four. You’ll probably find that I’ve stolen her. Why, she’s the finest horse in the cow country.”

“Or any other country,” added Slim proudly. “We’ll amble. See you this afternoon for I’m going to take my time.”

“How about grub this noon?”

“I had enough at breakfast to last until supper.”

With a cheery wave to his companion, Slim gave Lightning her head and to the music of swiftly drumming hoofs, disappeared up the valley, heading back along the Sky High trail.

Slim soon brought Lightning down to an easy lope, a tireless pace that was capable of eating up the miles when on a day-long trail. But there was no need for even that much speed, and a few minutes later he pulled her down to a walk.

It was a glorious July morning such as only the Cajon country knows, with the air sweet and clean. As the trail mounted toward the crest, Slim turned to look toward the Creeping Shadows country. The air was clearer than on his first glimpse from the summit, and he could see the broad valley lying below the Three Soldiers.

Even at that distance it was clear that there were many open meadows and from what Slim knew of the country, they would be rich with the grass needed to make fat cattle. It seemed incredible that such a beautiful country was a land of lawlessness and violence where the life and wealth of a man like Adam Marks was in daily danger.

From a distance came the faint drumming of hoofs. Slim had no desire to be seen on the trail and he sent Lightning leaping behind the protection of a dense thicket. His rifle was in camp, but his revolver was in the holster at his side. With deft hands, he made sure that the gun was ready for instant use. Then he slipped off Lightning’s back and stepped up to the sorrel’s head, placing one hand gently over the nostrils. He couldn’t afford to have Lightning whinny as the other riders passed by.

A few seconds later two horsemen appeared down the trail. They had evidently been riding hard, but the grade steepened just below Slim and they brought their tired horses down to walk. The riders were dressed in conventional cowboy garb, Stetsons, blue shirts with a kerchief caught carelessly around the neck and well worn leather chaps. Each man carried sidearms and a rifle in the boot on his saddle. They were burned to a deep brown by days in the sun, but there was also a hardness about their features that was not reassuring to Slim. They looked like a couple of tough customers.

Slim could hear them talking and he listened intently to catch their words.

“How much further to the summit?” asked the shorter of the two.

“Must be all of ten miles,” was the reply. “I’m not sure; never been to the top before.”

“Seems kinda foolish to have to watch this trail, but the chief is sure plenty mad about the way Newt and Maxie handled this deal. Means there’s a couple of cowboys on the prod somewhere in the valley.”

“And probably plenty mad, what with one of them getting his horse shot out from under him and both of them having to hoof it down from the summit.”

“Kinda funny we didn’t run across them,” said the squat, heavy-set puncher.

“It’s all right with me that we didn’t,” growled his companion. “Look at the elbow Maxie’s got. He won’t be able to use it for a couple of months. If that slug had been a little deeper, Maxie could have kissed his arm goodbye.”

“All the same, it seems darned foolish ordering us up here to see that no one comes down the trail. The chief’s either getting ready to pull a big raid or he’s getting cold feet and is going to leave the valley.”

The voices were fainter as the riders went up the trail, but Slim listened eagerly to get the reply of the taller puncher.

“Don’t worry about the chief getting cold feet. He’s got all of the nerve in the world. In a little while, he’s going to be the cattle king of the Creeping Shadows.”

Slim smiled grimly. The “chief” would be cattle king only after he had disposed of Adam Marks and if there was anything Slim and Chuck could do to prevent it, that would never be accomplished.

A few rods further Slim came to the stream where they had rested and cached their saddles. He crossed the stream and went into the gulch where the saddles had been hidden. They were intact and after watering Lightning he swung his own onto Lightning’s back and cinched it firmly. Then he fastened Chuck’s broad saddle on behind his own.

The sun was well toward its zenith when he started leisurely down the trail. Riding astride the easy-gaited Lightning, the trip was in marked contrast to the painful journey of the day before when each step had been agony to their tired and swollen feet. The memory made his feet hurt and Slim shoved thoughts of the trail into the back of his mind.

Slim’s trip back down the trail was made at a most leisurely pace. There was no need to hurry, and aside from keeping an alert lookout for some chance rider coming up from the valley, he enjoyed every bit of it. It was mid afternoon when he swung off the trail and turned to the left to their own camp. When he reached the stream bank where they had passed the night every trace of their camp had vanished!

Slim looked at the scene in amazement. Blankets, cooking utensils and even Chuck had disappeared. The ashes of their fire had been scattered and made to look as though days had elapsed since the camp had been there.

The cowboy from the Flying Arrow looked around cautiously, afraid that he had stepped into a trap laid by the rustlers from the valley of the Creeping Shadows.

While he raked his mind for some solution to the disappearance of the camp, a low whistle sounded from across the stream. Slim whirled quickly, his right hand poised for a fast grab at his gun if necessary.

Above a fringe of underbrush on the further bank, Chuck was peering at him.

“What happened to the camp?” demanded Slim.

“Didn’t you meet any riders along the trail?”

“Two.”

“How do you think they got up that far if they didn’t come by here? I heard them coming and believe me, I dusted around and made our camp do a vanishing act. You want to remember we’re not far off the trail and this looks like a handy watering place on a hot day. I wasn’t taking any chances.”

“Well, you can come out of hiding now. Those fellows are at the summit by this time and from what I gathered as they went by me, they’ll be there quite a while.”

Chuck emerged from the undergrowth, carrying his rifle in one hand. He jumped from one rock to another, and finally arrived on Slim’s side of the stream.

“Now we’ll have to lug all of the duffel and grub over here,” said the Flying Arrow cowboy.

“Not on your life. There’s a fine bite of grass on the other side and a little hollow to hide our fire. No more camps near the trail for me.”

“You’re getting worse than an old hen,” protested Slim.

“I am, huh! Well listen to me. The boys that rode up the trail swung down to the stream here to water their horses. It was a darned good thing I was on the job and had sense enough to get our stuff out of sight. Why, I sat over there with my rifle trained on them just itching for a chance to bang away. But I’d done my job too well. I hadn’t left a thing for them to steal.”

“Hear much they said?” asked Slim.

“Everything, but they only talked about the heat and the long ride up to the summit.”

“I heard enough when they went by me to warn us that we’d better get over to the Box B as soon as possible. That gang is drawing a tight net around every entrance or exit from this country. Something big is going to happen and unless there’s some outside help on the job, Adam Marks may be wiped out.”

“Got any idea who’s running the rustlers?”

“They mentioned ‘the chief’ once or twice, but never repeated his name. I’ve a hunch he’ll be a hard one to run down. A man operating a gang as efficient as this one seems to be won’t leave many loose strings around.”

Slim gave Lightning her head and the sorrel picked her way across the bubbling stream. He unfastened Chuck’s saddle and let it drop to the ground. Then he went back across the creek and Chuck managed to mount behind Slim, riding back across the stream in this manner.

Chuck had found an ideal camp spot. The grass was rich, there was plenty of wood, and the swale was deep enough to hide their fire.

Slim turned Lightning out to graze and then both turned a hand to the task of getting their simple camp in shape for the night. That done, they went down to the creek bank, and loafed in the rays of the afternoon sun. Chuck watched the swift-moving waters.

“There’s a pool below with plenty of trout. I watched them this morning, but didn’t have a thing to catch them with. Gosh, a mess of mountain trout would taste good.”

“You’re sure there’re trout in the pool?”

“Saw them with my own eyes.”

Slim hastened back to their camp and dug deep into his saddlebags. He pulled out a small oilskin packet and from that produced a length of sturdy line and two artificial flies, a little the worse for wear, but still usable. Slim fastened the best one to the line and returned to the stream.

“Try your luck with this,” he said, dropping the fly and line at Chuck’s feet.

“You can start the fire now,” grinned Chuck as he picked up the line and started for the pool. “I’ll have a couple of one pounders in five minutes.”

“Say, who’s going to clean the fish?” asked Slim.

“If I catch them, you ought to be willing to do the cleaning,” said Chuck.

“But it’s my tackle you’re using,” Slim reminded him.

“You would have to suggest that,” retorted Chuck. “That being the case, we’ll split the work. I’ll catch the fish, you build the fire, and we’ll both clean them.”

“If any,” chuckled Slim.

Chuck strode off downstream and Slim gathered up an armful of wood for the fire. Then he walked down to the pool. Chuck had used his knife to cut a sapling for use as a pole and he was casting energetically with the fly.

“How many?” asked Slim.

“Not a one so far, but just wait a minute.”

Five more casts failed to produce a strike and Chuck’s confidence started to crumble.

“Let me have a try.” Slim took the homemade pole and moved downstream to a point where the rays of the sun streamed warmly on the water. The fly flicked the surface of the water, again and then again. On the fourth cast there was a flash of silver and a trout was hooked hard.

“You’ve got him, you’ve got him!” shouted Chuck, dancing along the bank oblivious of his tender feet. “Don’t lose him.”

“I won’t unless your shouting scares him away.”

The trout was a beauty, at least a pound and a half if Slim was any judge, and he played the fish carefully, finally drawing it close enough to the bank so Chuck could reach down and get it in his hands.

“What a beauty,” said the Circle Four cowboy as he held the trout in his hands. “Some people have all the luck.”

“You mean some people have all the skill,” grinned Slim, casting the fly back into the now quiet waters of the pool. He was patient and a fair judge of trout water, the result being that a few minutes later he got another strike, but this one finally eluded him. Slim got a third strike and this time landed his fish, which was larger than the first.

Returning to camp, they set about the task of cleaning the fish. Old Bill had left them plenty of food, and at sundown they stretched out beside the fire to enjoy their evening meal. The trout was delicious and there was plenty for both.

Supper over, they lolled on their blankets, watching the last light of day fade and the evening star brighten.

The night was uneventful and in the morning Slim again fished the trout pool. His luck held with him and he managed to land five trout in a little more than an hour.

“We’ll have enough for supper, even with Old Bill here,” said Chuck as he surveyed the catch of silver beauties.

During the day they kept a close watch on the trail but it was not until late afternoon that Old Bill appeared riding up out of the valley. He was leading a horse and his own saddlebags were bulging with articles he had purchased on the other side of the Cajons.

Chuck looked at the horse with a critical eye.

“That’s a skinny nag you brought me,” he said, after greetings had been exchanged.

“Maybe it will take a little of the extra weight off you; kinda saw you down in the middle,” chuckled Old Bill as he swung out of his saddle.

They gave the cattleman a hand in unloading the saddlebags and unfastening the boots which he had tied to his saddle.

Chuck hobbled the cayuse Old Bill had brought for him and then joined the others in camp.

“Have to move across the creek?” asked Bill.

“A little company rode up the trail yesterday and I figured it was best not to be seen,” said Chuck. “Slim saw them higher up the trail, but he gave them the slip, too. They were going up to the crest of the Cajons to make sure that no one else wanders into this country by that route.”

Old Bill nodded thoughtfully.

“They’re plugging up every trail into the Creeping Shadows country. Lucky thing I know an old one that’s been forgotten by everyone except myself and Adam Marks.”

“Maybe the rustlers are using that one to get the cattle out,” suggested Chuck.

“I’d know if they were sending cattle out that way,” replied Old Bill.

Chuck unwrapped a package the cattleman tossed toward him. It contained a change of trousers and a shirt of plain blue material.

“Why this isn’t even new,” protested Chuck.

“Of course not. Think I want you going into the valley with a brand new outfit when you’re supposed to be a cowboy who’s nearly broke and willing to work for just about any kind of a wage? I got the shirt and pants from an old clothes dealer. They’re clean. Put them on.”

Chuck mournfully took off his brightly checked shirt and in its place pulled the blue one over his head. The trousers were too large even for Chuck, but they would do.

“How about the boots?” asked Slim.

“I got in an awful jam,” confessed Old Bill. “I knew your size but I forgot to ask Chuck what size he wore so I just got the biggest in the store.”

Slim found that the boots Old Bill had brought fitted comfortably. Like the shirt and trousers for Chuck, the boots were from a second hand store, and as a result were well broken in.

Old Bill’s guess had been good, and Chuck failed to grumble when he eased his feet into the boots.

“Now we’ll get at the important business,” said the cattleman, producing a pair of hair clippers.

“Is that necessary?” asked Chuck hopefully.

“We’re going to do this thing right. When I get through with you, neither one of the hombres who jumped you up near the summit will ever recognize you.”

Chuck sat down on the grass and Old Bill started snipping away. He wasn’t expert as a barber, but he managed a fair job which Slim, grinning at Chuck’s protests, watched.

The new haircut certainly made a difference in Chuck, and Slim felt that in Old Bill they had a wise counsellor.

After the hair-cutting operation was completed, Old Bill turned to Slim.

“Bring Lightning up and we’ll get at the dyeing of her white spots.” He opened up a can of dye and mixed it in one of the tin cups, working until he had the mixture just the shade of Lightning’s sleek hair. Then, with a soft cloth, he rubbed on the dye while the big sorrel stood patiently, wondering just what it was all about.

First the star on the forehead was changed from white to sorrel, then the white on the legs was dyed. When the task was finished, Slim stepped a few paces from his mount. The dye had blended beautifully with the natural shade and it would have taken an expert to have detected that dye had been used.

Slim put the new saddle Old Bill had brought on Lightning, drew up the cinches, and mounted. He rocked back and forth in the stirrups, then dismounted and adjusted them. Once more he mounted, this time satisfied, and a smile broke over his lips.

“I’m all set for whatever we run into in the Creeping Shadows country,” he said.

“You’ll run into plenty of trouble,” promised Old Bill. “Let’s eat. I’m half starved.”

Slim fried the trout and half an hour later, with the sun dropping down behind the Three Soldiers and the twilight coming up out of the Creeping Shadows, they sat down around the campfire. There was little conversation during the meal, for to riders of the range food is too important to mix with idle talk.

The supper over, Slim and Chuck washed up the dishes while Old Bill stretched out on his blanket and puffed contentedly at his pipe.

“Looks like we’re all set to start in the morning,” said Chuck, returning to the campfire.

“The earlier the better,” replied Old Bill. “It’s a good day’s jog down to Dirty Water. That’s the one town in the Creeping Shadows and you’ll want to hit there first and make a few inquiries about jobs. Course the only ranch I want you to work on is the Box B, so if some misguided soul offers you another job, you’ll have to do some quick thinking and get out of it.”

“What will we say if someone in Dirty Water gets curious and wants to know how we rode in?” asked Slim.

“Tell ’em the truth. Say you came down the Sky High trail, but don’t say anything more. No one will recognize you, what with Chuck having a new haircut and a shirt that doesn’t talk out loud.”

“What about the fellows guarding the trail?” Chuck wanted to know.

“Whoever asks will probably know about the guards and if you tell him you came down Sky High, it will cause a little trouble for the guards, which should be all right with you.”

“And we’re not to tell Adam Marks we’re working for you?” asked Slim.

“Not unless it is absolutely necessary. Don’t talk any more than you have to. The less you say, the better off you’ll be. Just keep your ears and eyes open.”

Old Bill sat up and drew a leather folder from an inner pocket. From this he extracted two slips of heavy paper and two small silver emblems.

“When I figured I’d call on you boys to help me solve the mystery of the Creeping Shadows, I went down to see the governor at Laramie. He’s made you boys special agents directly under him with authority to act in any part of the state. These slips of paper are your commissions from the governor and the little silver shields are your badges. See that no one gets hold of them or your life won’t be worth the paper those commissions are written on.”

Slim took the paper and badge Old Bill handed him, and read the commission which made him a special agent of the state. Then he folded it carefully and placed it in the bottom of his right boot. Chuck did likewise and both cowboys fastened the badges on the inside of their Stetsons where the sweat band would hide them from any observer.

“Those badges mean that the entire law enforcement machinery of this state is behind you in your quest for the rustlers,” pointed out Old Bill. “When you learn the truth of what’s going on in the valley, send for me. If there isn’t time for that, use the power of the law which those badges give you.”

Slim’s fingers slid inside his hat and he fingered the tiny silver shield. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to call on the power which the badge represented.

Shortly after that they rolled into their blankets, for a long ride was ahead of the young cow punchers with the dawn of the next day.