Edward G. Cheyney

A LITTLE DETECTIVE WORK

“How long have you been on the job?” Baxter asked between bites.

“About a week now,” Scott replied. “Oh, sure,” Baxter exclaimed, “I knew that. Of course we all heard how you bought and rode Jed Clark’s horse. He certainly is a beauty. Have you had any trouble with him?”

“No,” Scott said, “no real trouble. He ran away with me the other day when a mountain lion got on our trail, but he only took me home a little faster than I intended to go. There does not seem to be a mean trait about him.”

“He killed the first man who tried to ride him,” Baxter explained. “That gave him the name of an outlaw and kept any one else from trying him. He probably never was mean and only killed the fellow by accident. You were certainly lucky to get him.”

And so they talked of little things of purely personal interest, really getting acquainted with each other while they ate their little packages of lunch.

“Now,” Baxter exclaimed with a comfortable sigh as he stretched flat on his back and gazed out across the valley, “let’s have your trouble.”

“Well,” Scott began thoughtfully, “I might as well begin at the beginning and tell you the whole story. Then you can judge for yourself. I have mighty little definite to go on and I am too green to understand that.”

“Must be something pretty rotten if a greenhorn got on to it in a week,” Baxter commented.

“Of course,” Scott continued, “the super explained the trouble they had in that patrol district and said he hoped to break it up by getting in a complete stranger from another part of the country. As I did not know anything about sheep they gave me a guard who is an expert, but as I understand it they hold me responsible for keeping the bands down to the number allowed in the permits.”

“Who is that guard?” Baxter interrupted.

“His name is Heth.”

“Never heard of him.”

“I don’t like his looks,” Scott said, “but I don’t really know anything against him. Well, I ran onto the first signs when I went down to visit the small ranchers and find out about the free use stock. Every one of them wanted to know how much it was going to cost him this year, almost dropped dead when I said ‘nothing,’ and then went with me to the next place to see if I told the same story there. I had quite an escort by the time I got to the last place and they had a regular celebration.”

“Of course that was a hang over from last year and has nothing to do with this year’s work,” Baxter explained.

“Yes, I know that,” Scott replied, “but it helps to show you the way I have been worried. The next morning I was to count in the sheep. Just as I was starting out the ranger ’phoned that the lookout had reported a fire on this edge of the district and ordered me out on it because I did not know enough to count the sheep alone. Heth told me the wrong trail and I was more than half a day getting there. When I finally got to the top of that peak over there I could not see the faintest trace of a fire.”

“There was one, though,” said Baxter with sudden interest, “for I happened to be down this way and put it out. I know who set it, too. It was one of Jed Clark’s herders. He said he wanted to burn up the brush so that it would not be in the way of the sheep. Of course I knew that was a fake, but I could not find out why he really did do it, and I could not do anything to him because he had taken great care to keep it from spreading.”

“I saw the ashes down there this morning,” Scott explained, “and could not figure it out. I did not get back to the cabin till late, all the sheep were in, and Heth was not there. So I decided to come out this morning to see what a band of sheep really looked like and see how they handled them. I visited three or four of them and they looked awfully big to me. I tried to count them, but could not do it. Then I came on over here to see what these bands were like. I have seen a couple of them and they do not look over half as large as mine.”

“Is that so?” exclaimed Baxter sitting up.

“Now,” Scott concluded, “what I want to know is, how can I tell whether they are really too large? Of course I can order them back for a recount but I want to be pretty sure that I am right before I do that.”

“I’ll go over with you and have a look,” Baxter said, evidently enjoying the prospect. The graft in the neighboring district had always been a source of annoyance and he was glad of the chance to help clean it up. The whole forest considered it a disgrace and a stain on their reputation.

They mounted and rode away together like old friends. Baxter could not keep his eyes off of Jed. “To think,” he exclaimed, “that I have been living in the country with that horse for two years and did not have the sense or the nerve to buy him. If you ever miss him you better look in my stable first thing.”

It was only a few minutes till they came to one of the bands which Scott had seen in the morning. They were spread out evenly on an open slope and feeding peacefully.

“Now have a good look at that band,” Baxter said, “there are sixteen hundred of them. No use trying to count them in the open. It can’t be done. You just have to size up a band you know and then compare it with others. It takes a good deal of experience to guess them at all accurately.”

“Couldn’t a fellow separate them into small groups and count them that way?” Scott asked.

“Ever try it?” Baxter grinned.

“No,” Scott replied, “I had never seen more than twenty sheep in one bunch till I came here.”

“Well, don’t suggest it to a sheep man if you want to look wise. You might as well try to separate a bunch of quicksilver with a pin point. Where the leader goes they all go. You can’t separate them.”

A little farther on they came to another band. “How many there?” Baxter asked drawing rein on a little knoll above them.

Scott sized them up carefully. They were bunched a little closer than the others and it was hard to judge. “Don’t look like quite so many,” he ventured a little doubtfully.

“Good,” Baxter exclaimed encouragingly, “fourteen hundred. Now for a look at yours.”

They rode briskly and Scott whiled away the time with an account of his encounter with the cowboy who tried to steal his horse.

“Jed probably sent him,” Baxter said. “I tell you that old scoundrel will do you if he can, and if you throw out any of his sheep he will go to any length to get even.”

“They are going out all right,” Scott replied firmly, “if I can find any more than the limit. I have a little grudge of my own to even up.”

They topped a low ridge overlooking a small plateau and Baxter stopped in sudden amazement. “Great guns,” he exclaimed softly as his eye wandered excitedly over a great band of sheep which almost covered the plateau.

“How many?” he asked Scott after a careful estimate.

“Do you mean for me to guess?” Scott asked, “or tell you from my notes how many there are supposed to be?”

“Guess first and look it up afterwards,” Baxter suggested.

“Well, judging from the bands over your way I would say that there were at least two thousand, but none of the bands in this district are supposed to be that large.” He pulled out his memorandum, “The permit calls for fourteen hundred.”

“Gee, but they have their nerve right with them. There are twenty-five hundred in that band if there is one.”

“But where did they come from?” Scott asked in perplexity.

“That’s the question, all right,” Baxter answered thoughtfully. “Possibly another band has gotten mixed up with this one. It is not likely, but we better make sure before we raise a row about it. Where are the other bands?”

“Why not ask the herder?” Scott suggested.

“Because he’ll lie like a trooper, and besides we don’t want to arouse any suspicions yet a while.”

They visited all the bands in the district one after the other and Baxter estimated that each one was carrying from five hundred to twelve hundred more than the permit called for. When they had finished the last examination it was beginning to get dark. The two sat their horses for a moment in silence.

“What’s the next move?” Scott asked.

“Wonder how they got in?” Baxter queried.

“I am not so much interested in that right now,” Scott answered “as how to get them out.”

“Well, if I were you I should first call up Dawson, tell him that you have looked over the sheep, feel sure that there are a large number of extras and suggest a recount. Then it will be up to him.”

“You don’t think he has been mixed up in this graft in any way?” Scott asked.

“Who, Dawson? Oh, I hardly think that likely. He is considered one of the best rangers on the forest, has always been very strict in our district and is thoroughly disgusted with the black eye this district has always given the forest. What makes you think he is in it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Scott answered uncertainly. “Maybe it is only a hunch, but I have not liked his manner toward me.”

“You may be right, but if you are he is a mighty smooth one. I think you are probably mistaken. He has been stung by the patrolmen in this district so often that it is only natural that he should look with suspicion on every new one. Anyway, if you report it to him he will have to do something and your diary will show that you reported it.”

“Very well, I’ll call him up this evening.”

“Then you want to gum shoe around till you find where they got in. That is the first thing the super will want to know and he will expect you to be able to tell him.”

“I have never done any detective work,” Scott said, “but I’ll report to Dawson to-night and get busy in the morning. I certainly appreciate your help. I would have been up against it without you.”

“Mighty glad you came over. Sorry I made such a fool of myself this morning, but I assure you that it will not happen again. You don’t know how much I appreciate seeing an honest man in this district again. All the boys will be glad to hear the news and will help all they can. So long. ’Phone me how you come out.”

“Thanks. Come over again when you get a chance,” Scott called after him. “I have a hunch that I am going to be busy here.”

He turned Jed’s head toward home and rode thoughtfully through the gathering dusk. He told Baxter that he was not interested in how the sheep got in, but now that he knew how to get them out he found himself repeating over and over, “But how could they have gotten in?”

As soon as Jed was safely in the corral Scott called up Dawson, but Mrs. Dawson answered the ’phone and said her husband had not come home yet. Heth was not at the cabin. Scott decided that if Dawson was not at home by the time he had finished supper he would call up the supervisor. He was determined to get some action in the morning. He could not bear the thought of the sheep men thinking that they had hoodwinked him so easily.

While he was washing the supper dishes and still pondering how the sheep got in, the ’phone rang and he found the supervisor on the line. From the tone of his voice he was evidently in no very pleasant humor.

“Burton?” he questioned.

“Yes, sir.”

“This is Ramsey. I have just had a report that a large number of sheep have been smuggled into your district up the small ravines to the west of the main road and chute. Do you know anything about it?”

“I know the sheep are there,” Scott replied, “I saw them to-day, but I could not figure out how they got in. I did not think they could get them up those caÑons.”

“Whereabouts are they now and how many of them are there?”

“I visited all the bands in the district to-day and found every one of them running over from five hundred to twelve hundred. Must be four thousand in all.”

“Are you sure there was no mistake in the count yesterday?”

There was an emphasis on the “sure” that Scott did not like and he answered with some dignity. “I do not know anything about the counting, Mr. Ramsey. Mr. Dawson ordered me out on a fire early yesterday morning and put Heth in charge of the counting. I have not seen Heth since.”

“Why didn’t you report those extras?” the voice was hard as steel and Scott knew exactly how he looked.

“I came in only a little while ago, sir. I tried to report to Mr. Dawson at once, but he was not at home. I intended to try him again after supper and then report to you if he was not yet home. I think that a recount should be made at once.”

“Dawson was in here this afternoon,” Mr. Ramsey replied. “He is the one who reported the rumor to me. I’ll take the matter of a recount up with him as soon as he has had time to get home. I am glad that you were able to discover the trespass so promptly. But remember,” and the voice was hard once more, “that you are responsible for seeing that no more get in that way. Good-night.”

Scott absently hung up the receiver. His jaw was set and his face wore an angry frown for he knew from the tone of the supervisor’s voice that he was under suspicion. But the question which had been bothering him was settled. They came up the steep little caÑons to the west. Now that he knew that much it would be an easy matter to prevent it in the future and he felt that he could soon prove the suspicions unfounded.