The End of the Trail Read Online Free PDF

years ago with a hundred head of carefully selected three-year-olds, Pat, and we imported the finest-bred bulls we could find. Our first year’s calf crop was disappointing … less than fifty per cent. We didn’t understand it and we brought in more bulls that summer, cut out the culls and tried again.
    â€œTwo of our bulls were killed during the mating season,” he went on deliberately. “Found on the range shot through the head. The calf crop was again disappointing, and during the fall a dozen of our most promising yearlings were also found shot through the head. We sent a detective up from the Burns Agency to investigate. He stayed a week and was killed before he made a report. He’d been dragged by his horse with his foot caught in the stirrup, and it looked like an accident, but when his body was brought in, it was discovered he’d first been shot through the head. Deliberate murder … and no trace of the killer.”
    Hazeltine paused for a moment. Pat was listening intently, his face very grave.
    â€œThat was last year,” Hazeltine went on. “We were shocked by the man’s death, and ready to give up our experiment. We didn’t understand who was doing it, nor why. It was evident that someone was determined we should give up the TB ranch and move out of Sanctuary Flat. But why? None of us could even guess. We didn’t try very hard last year,” he went on ruefully. “We didn’t import any more stock. We concentrated on caring for the best of our first year’s calf crop. But this fall we determined to make one more effort. We imported four of the finest bulls to be purchased in the East. We hired a range detective to ride the caboose up with them, to see that nothing happened.
    â€œThat was just a week ago, Pat. He was murdered the first night he was in Sanctuary Flat. And that same night, the four prize bulls were also killed; in the stock pens right by the railroad where they had been unloaded that afternoon. Eight thousand dollars’ worth of pure-blood livestock. Not only that, but it’s too late now to bring any more bulls in for breeding this year. It’s got to stop,” Hazeltine went on harshly. “We’re offering you ten thousand dollars to go up there and put a stop to it.”
    Pat Stevens moved uneasily. “Looks to me like a job for the law,” he protested.
    Philip Morrow laughed scornfully. “There isn’t any law. Sanctuary Flat is legally a part of Cochise County. The county seat is Las Almas, on the other side of the Cochetope Range. There isn’t even a horse trail into the Flat. The sheriff has to come all the way around to Denver, down to Pueblo, and then up by railroad. And what do you expect a sheriff to accomplish when an experienced range detective is murdered a few hours after he arrives?”
    Pat shrugged and countered, “What do you expect me to do?”
    â€œWe expect you to go up there and clean up the situation,” Hazeltine told him strongly. “You can do it. I’ve seen you in action in Powder Valley. You and your two partners, Sam and Ezra. There’s nothing the three of you can’t do.”
    Pat shook his head soberly. “We’re not in that business no more,” he protested. “Sam Sloan’s a family man now, running the Pony Express route from Denver to Laramie. And Ezra has got his own place just beyond that little ranch of yores that lays up next to the Lazy Mare. An’ that reminds me,” he went on in pretended anger. “When yore telegram came I told Sally I bet you’d decided to sell out that spread that I’ve been wantin’ to buy for years. It lies right on to my holdings and ain’t no good to you. When you goin’ to break down an’ sell it to me?”
    â€œAre we to understand you refuse to consider our offer?” Banker Raine put in impatiently.
    â€œI reckon that’s what I’m