"
"Judkins! Bern, they've been set upon--killed by Oldring's men!"
"I don't think so," replied Venters, decidedly. "Jane, your
riders haven't gone out in the sage."
"Bern, what do you mean?" Jane Withersteen turned deathly pale.
"You remember what I said about the unseen hand?"
"Oh!...Impossible!"
"I hope so. But I fear--" Venters finished, with a shake of his
head.
"Bern, you're bitter; but that's only natural. We'll wait to see
what's happened to my riders. Judkins, come to the house with me.
Your wound must be attended to."
"Jane, I'll find out where Oldring drives the herd," vowed
Venters.
"No, no! Bern, don't risk it now--when the rustlers are in such
shooting mood."
"I'm going. Jud, how many cattle in that red herd?"
"Twenty-five hundred head."
"Whew! What on earth can Oldring do with so many cattle? Why, a
hundred head is a big steal. I've got to find out."
"Don't go," implored Jane.
"Bern, you want a hoss thet can run. Miss Withersteen, if it's
not too bold of me to advise, make him take a fast hoss or don't
let him go."
"Yes, yes, Judkins. He must ride a horse that can't be caught.
Which one--Black Star--Night?"
"Jane, I won't take either," said Venters, emphatically. "I
wouldn't risk losing one of your favorites."
"Wrangle, then?"
"Thet's the hoss," replied Judkins. "Wrangle can outrun Black
Star an' Night.
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