Free Longhorn Empire by Bradford Scott Page A

earnestly to Austin Brant.
    “Remember what I told you?” he said. “That Dutch Harry bunch is snake-blooded and smart. They deliberately set out to frame
     poor Dawson for a hanging, and if it hadn’t been for you, they’d have gotten away with it. And they’ll hold that against you,
     too. Well, when they come looking for you, you won’t be here. I’ve got to get that money to Wes Morley in time for him to
     meet his bank note. So you’re headin’ south with the dinero, and it’s a hefty passel come early mornin’.”
    Brant had his doubts about Wes Morley’s urgent need of money, but he couldn’t very well argue with the Boss. He could see
     that Webb was anxious to get him away from Dodge City as quickly as possible. The Morley matter made a good excuse.
    “I got my powders,” he replied. “Be ready to ride come daylight.”
    “Good!” Webb nodded. He turned to Norman Kane. “Those hellions won’t forget you had a hand in the business, too, Kane,” he
     remarked. “Better watch your step.”
    “Don’t figger to be here long anyhow,” Kane returned easily. “Got important business to attend to in Oklahoma. Well, I’m headed
     for bed.
Buenos Noches
.”
    “Feller uses a heap of Spanish for an Okie,” Webb remarked as Kane left the lobby.
    “Don’t rec’lect him saying he was from Oklahoma—just said he owned a spread there,” Brant pointed out.
    “That’s right, he could be from down along the border,” Webb agreed.
    Brant was up by daylight to prepare for his long ride back to the Texas Panhandle. Before leaving the hotel, he thought of
     saying goodbye to Norman Kane, if the latter was out of bed. He stopped at the desk to inquire.
    “Mr. Kane checked out shortly after midnight,” he clerk replied, after consulting the register.
    “Checked out! Didn’t say where he was going?”
    “Evidently not,” the clerk replied. “There is no notation.”
    Brant nodded and left the hotel. “Decided to stick closer to his men, after the rukus last night, chances are,” he reasoned.
    Shortly afterward, Smoke’s irons were clicking on the boards of the toll bridge. With no bad luck, Brant hoped to cover the
     nearly seventy miles to Doran’s Crossing by dark. He knew Smoke was good for the distance, travelling at a fast pace. The
     trail was not bad and few difficulties of terrain offered between Dodge City and the Cimarron. He would spend the night at
     the Crossing, ford the river the following morning and then cover the three hundred odd miles to the Running W at a more leisurely
     pace. But with the thousands Webb had received for the cows carefully tucked away in inside pockets, he desired to put distance
     between him and the Cowboy Capital as quickly as possible. Somebody might very well have guessed thereason for his abrupt departure from Dodge. He was not particularly uneasy, however, for it was not likely that any gentlemen
     with “notions” would have figured he intended riding from Dodge this morning.
    Barely had he crossed the bridge when Brant saw the first dust cloud rolling up from the south. A few minutes later he was
     flashing past the first great herd headed for Dodge City. Soon there was another dust cloud and another herd. Then another,
     and another, till it seemed to the Running W foreman that the endless miles between Kansas and the plains of Texas were one
     vast sea of rolling eyes, shaggy backs and clashing horns.
    “Wouldn’t seem there were that many critters on all the Southwest rangeland,” he mused as he waved reply to the riders shoving
     along their reluctant charges.
    All day long he passed the herds, some large, some small, but all rolling northward toward the waiting markets. The longhorns
     were on the march!
    Brant’s saddlebags were crammed with provisions. Around midday he paused beside a spring and cooked a comforting surroundin’
     to which he did ample justice. Smoke grazed contentedly the while, apparently none the worse for the