Like all Westerners, he hated cattle rustlers only less than he hated a
horse thief. In years past he had had frequent battles with them when
they had tried to raid his stock, and the dire punishment that he
inflicted had made them willing of late to leave his ranch alone. For
several years he had had immunity and had been inclined to think that he
would be henceforth free of that particular pest. When Sandy had first
begun to speak, he had thought there might be some mistake, and that
the depletion of his stock might be traced to other causes. The last
incident, however, had furnished positive proof and it was evident that
the miscreants were due for another lesson at his hands.
"Was there any clue on that steer, outside of the changing of the brand?"
he demanded.
"No," replied Sandy, "except just this. Chip's pal said that he thought
the feller that did the branding was left-handed. The edge that was
deepest burned was on the other side from what it usually is when a
right-hander does it. Course, on account of the brands bein' mixed up
like, he couldn't say for sure, but that's the way it looked to him.
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