The Bluffton news. [volume] (Bluffton, Ohio) 1875-current, 1941-09-18

1t was special train consisting
of two day coaches and three box
cars.
They were a rough-looking lot,
these Texans. Some were bearded,
and good many of the others wore
long, dropping mustaches. Seasoned
man-hunters, they were cool, tough
specimens who had ridden hard
and far into the brush after the mon
on the dodge wanted by the law.
AT Jim Creek the engineer ran the
train onto siding. Sunday Brown
passed through the cars, waking up
his men and shouting "All out :.
All out" Sleepily the Texans came
to life. They gathered up their bag
gage and their weapons, then filed
down the aisle and dropped from
the steps of the coach. Eight or ten
men in chaps awaited them there.
They were cattlemen and foremen
of various outfits. Others would join
them as the invaders moved deeper
into the territory they meant to
comb.
Sunday Brown was a big broad
shouldered man moving on toward
fifty. He stood six foot in his shoes
and weighed two hundred pounds of
solid bone, gristle, and muscle. His
weather-beaten face was hard and
yet wary, as if years in the brush
had dried out sympathy and sharp
ened suspicion.
Clint Ellison and John McFaddin
led the cavalcade. They were famil-
lar with the terrain, which was part
of the country covered by their
spring and fall roundups. The party
followed winding, narrow road
through the sage to a ford on the
North Fork. Through this the rid
ers splashed to the bank beyond.
The sun was beginning to show
over the horizon edge, and far away
its rays slanted on the blades of a
windmill lower down in the valley.
Startled antelope, moving down to
water, bounded away as if on ball
bearing feet. A coyote crept its
furtive way through the brush. On
the side of a hill the riders caught
glimpse of startled cattle branded
with the Reverse B brand.
Reminded of Calhoun Terry by the
brand, Clint Ellison made bitter
comment to his companion. "We're
risking our lives for that turncoat as
much as for our own stuff. He sits
tight and says he won't have any
part in this, but his outfit shares the
profits with u.s."
"Cal is a queer combination, Nc
Faddin said. Hard as nails, but
with soft streak runnin' through
him."
Ellison's gray face was set obsti-
nately. "The trouble with him is
that he has too many friends among
the rustlers. He used to be one of
that crowd"
''No, SIR" denied McFaddin
promptly. "He came of good, clean
stock. His father, Barton Terry, was
fine citizen. Cal is all right, for
that matter. Plenty of the small
cattlemen are square shooters,
Clint. They don't like rustlers any
more than we do. I'm disappointed
in Cal. But that's the way he is
made" He added after a moment:
"By the way, who is the bird who
bumped off Buck Hart and his
friends? Seeing it's all over now,
you might as we'll tell me. I've got
a guess, and I'm wonderin' if I'm
right
The No, BY Joe manager took his
time to answer. 'fYou paid your
share, John, and I reckon you have
a right to know" he said at last.
''The fellows name is Jack Turley.
Do you know him?"
''I've met him. That's all. I dom t
want to know him any better. Fact
is, Clint, we have to employ scala
wags like him sometimes, but we
don't have to like them any more
than we would a sidewinder."
I'm expecting him to meet us
somewhere in Box Canyon before
we get to Johnson's Prong. Turley
has been thick with the rustlers for
some time. He knows where they
roost and he is to guide us to Them"
They passed the spot where Tet-
low has been ambushed and rode up
the draw leading to Box Canyon.
Here the wagon road swung sharply
to the right and followed the edge of
the hills to find a way to the up
lands. Ellison halted his little army
to give instructions.
1--WE separate here" he said. 1.-THE
wagons can't 60 up the canyon, of
course They'll follow the road past