Edward G. Cheyney

THE RECOUNTING OF THE SHEEP

Scott walked slowly back to the cabin thinking of the tremendous pow wow there would be when he sprung his discoveries the next day. He felt sure that neither the supervisor nor any one else outside of the ring, unless it was the small ranchers who had been using free range, had ever suspected Dawson. Every one knew that Jed Clark would beat any one he could, but with Dawson it would be a different matter. He had the reputation, both in the service and outside for sterling honesty and for strict enforcement of the regulations. He would have felt sorry for him if he had not overheard his cool schemes that night for getting rid of the “Eastern dude.” Now he looked forward with pleasure to the stir his disclosure would make.

He approached the cabin as he had left it by way of the corral and the wood pile, for he thought possibly Dawson had stopped there again on the way home. He glanced quickly around the cabin. There was no one there, but there was a piece of paper lying on the table in a conspicuous place near the lamp. It was a scribbled note from Dawson.

“I hope you have not made any mistake,” Scott repeated with a grin. “That’s a pretty slick little piece of sarcasm and I’ll bet he grinned when he wrote it, but if he knew what I know he would have made it a prayer that I had made a mistake.”

In order to have his records complete he finished up his daily diary report with a detailed account of the evening’s interview. It was one o’clock when he blew out the light and rolled into bed. He was so tired with his long day’s work that he went to sleep before he had planned out the details for the next day as he had intended.

However, he did not oversleep himself the next morning. He finished breakfast early and put the cabin in apple pie order in case he should have any official visitors before the recount. He had an idea that no one would have much time for the inspection of cabins after that.

He determined to ride out and see that the herders were bringing up the sheep according to his orders. He found Jed ready to go as usual and was soon trotting along gayly through the forest. The sun was shining brightly and his mood was in keeping with the day. He felt that his triumph was sure and he had no misgivings. He had not gone very far when he ran onto one of the bands headed for the chute.

It was feeding time for the sheep and they were in no hurry to travel. They moved by jerks, those in front hanging back till they were pushed on by those behind. Then they would trot a little way and stop to eat once more. Those in the center kept trying to push out to the sides where they could find some grass, and it kept the herder and the dog both busy to keep them moving.

Scott was watching with interest as the parade passed him when the herder called to him. “Too late to try to count ’em now, sonny. You ought to have done that before you ordered the recount.”

“Don’t look as big as it did,” Scott replied, frowning at the band and trying to look worried.

“It’ll look smaller yet when the tail end of it goes through that chute this morning,” the herder jeered.

“Well, I should worry,” Scott retorted, “Dawson, Ramsey and Jed will be there to do the counting at ten o’clock. Are the others coming?”

“You bet, and crazy to get there. You won’t have a very hard time counting yourself when this thing is over.”

“Think not?” Scott replied teasingly, and he rode back toward the chute, leaving the herder cursing him for a conceited upstart who would soon get a proper calling down. He stopped in at the cabin to get his tally register, and then rode on down to the chute to see that all was in readiness there. It was still an hour and a half before the time set for the recount and Scott put in the time examining the fence on either side of the chute to make sure that there were no holes.

He had not gone far along the fence on the west side of the chute when he noticed something which aroused his curiosity. All the ground between two of the posts had been trampled up by sheep. Of course the sheep had been crowded pretty close up to the fence on both sides at the time of the counting, but this was different. There had been no rain since the sheep came in and the distinct, continuous trail could be plainly seen between the two posts. The ground was not trampled up that way between any of the other posts. Further examination showed that one of the posts was loose and that all wires had been cut at that point and renailed.

This was a new piece of evidence which Scott had almost missed. Evidently Dugan had been afraid that Scott would get back from that fake fire before he had time to get all the sheep through the chute and had opened up that hole in the fence to hurry things along. He had a pretty clear idea now of the plan the stockmen had used and just how they had worked it. He recognized now that Dawson was the brains of the whole ring and that it was his smooth craft which had made it work. No detail which could be foreseen had been overlooked.

There was a rattling of loose stones down the caÑon trail and the supervisor appeared. He greeted Scott cordially. “You seem to have rounded up these fellows in pretty quick time,” he remarked looking keenly at Scott.

“Yes,” Scott replied modestly, “I was lucky enough to stumble onto it.”

“I hope for your own sake and that of the service that you are not mistaken in your estimate. It takes a good deal of experience to estimate sheep accurately in the open.”

“That is the reason I had Baxter do it for me,” Scott replied.

“Oh,” exclaimed Mr. Ramsey, evidently relieved, “he knows if any one does. When did you get him to do it?”

“The day after the sheep came in. I tried to count them and could not do it, but when I saw the bands in his district they looked so much smaller than mine that I asked him to come over and estimate them.”

Just then Dawson rode up. “Well, Burton,” he said when the first greetings were over, “don’t you feel a little nervous?”

“Not in the least,” Scott replied confidently.

“I never knew before,” said the supervisor, “that it was possible to get sheep up those little caÑons down there.”

“It isn’t,” Scott said quietly, looking straight at Dawson. He thought that he detected a slight start, but he was not sure.

“Then how did they get in?” persisted the supervisor.

“Here is something here that looks rather suspicious,” Scott said, leading the way to the trail through the fence.

Both Dawson and Ramsey examined it carefully. Scott called their attention to the loose post and the cut wires. He watched Dawson closely but could not detect even a trace of worry in his face. The ranger was such a good actor that if Scott had not been positive of his guilt he would have begun to worry himself.

“That is where they went, all right,” Dawson said, “probably ran them in at night.”

Scott was dumfounded for a minute. He had never thought of that. Then an idea occurred to him. “Why didn’t they take them through the chute if they did it at night?” Scott asked. He thought that he had him this time.

“Probably because they did it the night before the count and did not want you to see the tracks in the morning,” Dawson answered.

Scott knew that such was not the case but it was a clever argument. He decided to keep his information till later. He had shown the supervisor how the sheep went in and that was all he wanted to do just then. Already they could hear the sheep approaching and before they reached the chute Jed joined them. He was sullen and had very little to say to any one. He avoided Scott altogether.

“We’ll count them as they go out,” Mr. Ramsey suggested. “You and I will do the counting, Jed.”

“Yes, and I’ll have some damages coming when we are through,” Jed growled. “I’m not going to have my sheep driven all over the country for nothing.”

The herders all looked so happy that the supervisor became worried. “Looks as though they had slipped you some way,” he whispered to Scott.

Scott only smiled and replied, “We’ll see.”

The first band counted five under the permit, the second band sixteen under and the third twelve. The worried look deepened on the supervisor’s face and Jed was growling louder and louder. Every one was rubbing it into Scott but he only grinned and waited.

The last sheep of the last band was counted and they had all come well within the limit. Mr. Ramsey turned to Scott and that hard, steely look was in his eye. Scott caught Dawson’s wink at Jed.

“Where are your extras?” Ramsey asked severely.

“We’ll go count them now,” Scott said. He tried to speak calmly but a note of triumph stole into his voice in spite of himself. He noticed a decided look of dismay on Jed’s face, but Dawson’s showed no sign. Scott led his horse out of the brush.

“Where are you taking us now?” the supervisor asked coldly before he made a move to mount.

“Down where the sheep are,” Scott retorted a little nettled, “they are not likely to bring them up here.”

They all mounted and Scott led them up the trail in silence. He could have taken them directly along the bench at the edge of the cliff, but he preferred to go around by the ridge trail and keep them in suspense. He saw that the supervisor thought that he was bluffing. The farther they went along the ridge trail the more relieved Jed Clark looked, but when they turned short off the trail to the south his spirits dropped once more.

Scott rode straight for the caÑon now. There was no one in sight and he did feel a little worried for a minute. What if they had moved those sheep in spite of Baxter? But he thought of Baxter and the three thousand sheep down at the foot of the cliff and knew that he had no reason to be nervous.

As they rode into the mouth of the caÑon an astonished herder jumped from the improvised fence and stared at them wide eyed. Scott paid no attention to him, but led the others straight up to the fence. The bleating of hungry sheep had already reached them, but when Mr. Ramsey saw how many were packed inside the fence he whistled his amazement.

“We can make a little hole in this fence and count them as they go out,” Scott explained. He still felt a little grouchy about Ramsey’s attitude even when he looked at Jed’s beaten face.

“Pretty clever scheme, Jed,” the supervisor said patronizingly, “but Burton seems to have caught you at it.”

Jed stared at Scott as though he would have liked to tear him to pieces, but maintained a sullen silence.

“How many are there in there?” Ramsey asked.

“About two thousand as nearly as I could judge,” answered Baxter who had come up unnoticed.

Every one was too excited to even notice that he was a newcomer.

“Two thousand!” Mr. Ramsey exclaimed, “That is the most any one has ever tried to run in on me yet.”

“That’s not half of them,” Scott said.

“What?” Ramsey cried. “Not half of them? Where are the others? Turn these out to get something to eat. You count them as they go out, Baxter.”

Scott mounted and rode out of the caÑon. The others followed closely. The silence of the other caÑon was oppressive compared with the noise of the first one.

“Seem to have ‘flued the coop,’” Dawson remarked.

Scott dismounted and tore a hole in the brush fence. He led the way down to the bottom of the caÑon. “They’re down there,” he said pointing over the edge of the cliff.

The tracks leading into the narrow neck and the trampled shrubs along the edge of the cliff told the story only too plainly. Mr. Ramsey walked cautiously to the edge and looked over.

“Gosh,” he exclaimed drawing back quickly. “That’s an awful sight. How many were there?”

“Somewhere around three thousand,” Scott replied; “I could not tell exactly.”

“It was a clever scheme, Jed,” Ramsey repeated, “but it did not work.”

Jed was completely crushed. Scott felt sorry for him, little as he deserved it.

“It was a clever scheme, all right,” Scott said, “but it was not Jed’s.”

“Who’s was it, then?” Ramsey asked in astonishment.

Every one listened in strained silence. Baxter had joined the party contrary to orders to see the fun.

“Dawson’s,” Scott replied, looking straight at the ranger.

Every eye was turned on Dawson in amazement. Scott could not help but admire the man’s magnificent nerve. The accusation must have come as a complete surprise to him, but not an eyelash quivered. He looked at Scott as though in surprised amusement.

“Mine?” he asked smiling. “I guess your success has gone to your head. How do you make that out?”

“I happen to know,” Scott said looking Dawson calmly in the eye, “that you are Jed Clark’s partner in the sheep business, that you recommended Heth as a patrolman on this district knowing him to be Dugan, a crook, and Jed’s foreman, and that you planned this whole thing from start to finish.”

There was a gasp of astonishment from every one except Dawson. Mr. Ramsey looked from Scott to Dawson in utter bewilderment.

“You are either going crazy or are a most magnificent liar,” Dawson responded coldly. “You have made some statements here that you either have to prove or answer to me for.”

A deadly hatred blazed for a moment in the ranger’s face, but he quickly controlled it. He turned calmly to the supervisor. “I demand an investigation of this thing from start to finish.”

The supervisor was clearly at a loss. The ranger’s reputation during his past eight years of service was such that he could not believe that there was any possible foundation for the charges, and yet Scott had shown a remarkable skill in unraveling this matter so far and seemed confident of his charges.

“We shall certainly have to investigate it,” he said. “You understand, of course, Burton, that you will be obliged to prove fully all the charges that you have made.”

“I have the proof,” Scott said quietly, “and can produce it whenever it is needed.”

“Very well, I’ll notify you when the hearing will be held. Jed, your permits are of course cancelled, but we’ll have to let those sheep stay on here to keep them from starving till you have a chance to dispose of them. I want you to come down to the office with me, Dawson, to clear up some other matters there. You can stay here, Burton, and look after your district as usual. You have done a magnificent job in handling this problem so far and I congratulate you. Come on, fellows.”

Mr. Ramsey was evidently anxious to get Jed and Dawson away from Scott. He, too, had caught the look of hatred and he was afraid it might blaze out any minute in open violence. He rode off toward the chute with the two stockmen and left Scott with Baxter who was eagerly waiting to hear an account of everything he had missed.