The ride to the mouth of Wolf coulee was uneventful and the sun was swinging high above the Cajons when they reached the scene where the owner of the Box B had been ambushed the night before.

The mouth of Wolf coulee was broad with the trail from the ranch to Dirty Water down the center of the draw. An outcropping of rock thrust its way into the coulee from the right and it was obvious that from the shelter of the rock the gunman had fired at Adam Marks.

The riders slipped from their saddles and picked their way carefully over the broken ground, Slim taking the lead.

“It must have been almost dark when it happened,” said Slim, “for it was some time after nightfall when the horses came galloping into Dirty Water.”

The foreman nodded. “He left the ranch half an hour before sunset and packing quite a roll of cash with him.”

“I didn’t see any cash when he was brought into the doctor’s office.”

“Probably not. The rustlers must have reached him after they had wounded him and taken the money. Adam was afraid to keep the money on the ranch and he was going to go around Dirty Water and drive all night to get to Mopstick where he could catch a train and take the money to the bank at Brighton.”

“If the money was in your boss’s clothes when he reached the doctor’s office, it’s safe, for Chuck’s on the job,” said Slim.

There was a warning whir of rattles and Joe Haines called out sharply.

Slim leaped backward, his gun spouting flame. Two shots echoed across the coulee and the body of the rattler slipped off the rock.

The foreman looked incredulously at Slim.

“Where you carrying your gun, in your hand?” he asked.

“No,” replied Slim, feeding fresh shells into the six gun and sliding the weapon back into his holster.

Joe Haines asked no further question but in his own mind he cataloged Slim as the fastest man he had ever seen with a gun. The weapon had been drawn with a skill so fast and smooth that it defied the eye. It was almost like magic, the sweep of that long arm and the accurate spurt of the weapon.

“Here’s where our bushwhacker made himself comfortable,” said Slim, pointing behind a rock where a half dozen cigarette butts were strewn. He leaned down and picked up an exploded rifle shell. Turning it over slowly in his fingers, he looked at the mark of the firing pin on the base. Then he slipped the copper cartridge into an inner pocket. It might come in handy later.

A few rods further back they found where the gunman’s horse had been tethered and there was evidence written in the dust there that the rider had mounted in great haste.

“He must have been afraid someone had overheard the shot and was coming after him. He sure tore out of here,” said Joe Haines.

“Maybe he started out to overtake Adam Marks and get the money,” said Slim.

“By golly, I’ll bet you’re right! We’ll get our horses and follow this trail.”

Slim’s hunch was correct, and a short distance further the tracks left by the lone rider merged into the dust of the main trail to Dirty Water. The gunman had been riding hard, but the team, spurred on by an unknown fear, had been too fast for him.

A mile and a half along the road to Dirty Water the trail of the solitary rider swung to the right toward the Three Soldiers.

“Want to follow it?” asked Slim.

“I’m more anxious about the money. That trail won’t cool off for a few hours. We’re riding to Dirty Water.”

It was mid morning when they reached the cow town. They splashed across Stony creek and tied their horses to the rail in front of Doc Baldridge’s office. Chuck emerged from the interior and Slim noticed that he was careful to keep his rifle in his hands.

“Anything happen?” he asked anxiously.

“Something tried to happen,” said Chuck grimly. “This is no place for a sick man to try to get well. We’ve got to get Mr. Marks back to the ranch and get him there at once.”

“This is my pardner, Chuck Meade,” said Slim, introducing his companion and the range boss of the Box B.

“Glad to know you,” said Chuck, as he shook Joe Haines’ hand with real warmth.

“Hear you’ve signed on to work with us and I’m glad of it. We need all the good boys we can get.”

The foreman hurried on into the office and Slim and Chuck had an opportunity to talk alone.

“What happened?” Slim asked eagerly.

“You mean what didn’t quite happen? Well, it was about half an hour after you left and I was still trying to wake up when I heard someone creeping along outside the front of the office. We had all of the curtains pulled down but it was so hot we had to leave the door open. I blew out the lamp and jumped through the doorway. In the darkness I stumbled and when I got up the hombre that had been trying to do the sneak act was running down the street past the hotel. I let him have a few slugs to stir things up, but I missed him.”

“You think he was after Marks?”

“I know it. Here’s what I found outside this morning. The fellow was in such a hurry he dropped it.”

Chuck pulled out a revolver which he had stuck in the belt of his trousers.

“We were afraid something like this might have happened. Joe Haines told me his boss was taking some cash to the bank at Brighton and had planned to ride around Dirty Water in the night and take the train at Mopstick. You see any money on him?”

Just then Joe Haines emerged from the Doctor’s office.

“If one of you boys will go around to the stable and get the team ready, we’ll start for the ranch. We’re taking the boss home. The money is safe.”

“Good thing,” said Chuck. “I’ll get the team.”

Fifteen minutes later they carried the owner of the Box B out of the office and placed him on a mattress in the bottom of the wagon. Slim had settled for their room at the hotel and at the same time had made the purchase of the mattress. Joe Haines took the reins of the team while Slim had a lead rope on Joe’s horse. They eased across the shallow bed of Stony creek and started the dusty ride to the ranch.

As they moved away from Dirty Water, Slim turned in his saddle. Hal Titzell, immaculately dressed, was standing on the stoop of the Palace Hotel, watching the small cavalcade and Slim thought that the expression on the face of the cattle buyer was anything but pleasant.

They made slow progress, Joe Haines driving carefully to ease the jolts for the injured man on the mattress. Slim rode alongside the wagon and conversed with Joe.

“If it’s all right with you, I’m going to swing off the main trail and see if I can follow the fellow who did the shooting last night,” he said.

“Go ahead,” urged Joe. “If you catch up with him, treat him like you did the rattlesnake this morning.”

A few minutes later Slim turned away from the trail to the ranch and headed more directly toward the Three Soldiers. He had little difficulty in following the trail for the rider had been pushing his horse hard.

Slim swung along at an easy lope, a pace that Lightning could hold all day. The trail was leading into the foothills of the Three Soldiers and shortly after midday Slim stopped beside a creek to allow Lightning to drink and graze. He had no food for himself, but breakfast at the Box B had been hearty enough to ward off the pangs of hunger until nightfall.

It was mid afternoon when Slim found the place where the unknown rider had stopped to rest himself and his mount. A handful of ashes were still warm and he pushed on with renewed hope. His quarry could not be more than three hours’ ride ahead and on a horse that should be tiring rapidly.

Slim leaped off Lightning and got down to examine the tracks he was following. He wanted the memory of the hoof marks stamped indelibly on his mind. Somewhere in the valley he might come across them again even though the coming night might let his quarry escape this time. The left rear shoe had a V-shaped nick that made it easily recognizable anywhere and after studying the other tracks for some outstanding characteristic, Slim remounted Lightning and pushed steadily ahead. The pace was faster now, and the sturdy sorrel seemed to scent that a chase was on.

They had been climbing for the last two hours and Slim knew that they were well behind and above the Box B layout. It was half an hour before sunset when, from a promontory, he looked down on the ranch buildings, snuggled in the rich valley which was the heart of the Box B.

As the shadows deepened in the Three Soldiers, Slim knew that his quarry was safe for the night. In spite of Lightning’s superior speed and the ease with which he had been able to follow the trail, it would be impossible to overtake the rider ahead.

Slim watered Lightning at a mountain stream and pondered what to do next. It would be a hard ride down to the ranch, but he was hungry. On the other hand, if he stayed in the foothills, he could press on the first thing in the morning, perhaps overtaking the man he sought before he struck the trail again.

Slim’s innate stubbornness and determination to stick to a job until the end finally decided him and he made a crude camp beside the tiny stream. There was plenty of grass for Lightning, but Slim went hungry for the second meal that day. He hitched his belt a trifle tighter and unrolled his blanket.

With the first streak of dawn over the distant Cajons, he had Lightning saddled and ready for the trail. An hour later he came upon the overnight camp of the unknown rider and his heart leaped. The trail was getting hot. Another hour and he should be within striking distance.

Slim felt that if he could but overtake the gunman who had shot down the owner of the Box B, he would have captured an important man in the gang of rustlers. It might be the opening wedge to splitting up the gang and freeing the entire valley of the menace which hung over the cow country.

The rosy hue of the dawn faded into a slate grey and misty clouds whirled around the peaks of the Three Soldiers. It looked like rain, the first in weeks.

Slim exclaimed bitterly, for a rain at this time would obliterate the trail and his day of hard riding would be without reward. Talking almost constantly to Lightning, he pushed the sorrel as rapidly as the rough ground would permit. He knew that he was gaining steadily and if the rain would only hold off another hour, he should have his quarry.

The gray clouds swept lower as Slim pressed along through the foothills, praying that the rain would hold back a few minutes longer. But the skies opened and the long-delayed rain descended in torrents. The trail faded before his eyes and Slim turned back and headed out of the foothills. So far the rustlers held the upper hand.