It was a notice of reward. A reward of ten thousand dollars for
information leading to the capture of the gang of cattle thieves known
as the "Lightfoot gang." And it was signed by Dug McFarlane on behalf
of the Orrville Rancher's Vigilance Committee.
"Guess Ju knowed after all," somebody observed, in a confidential tone
to his neighbor.
But Ju's ears were as long and sharp as his tongue. He flashed round
on the instant, his lantern lowered from the level of the notice board.
There was a sort of cold triumph in his manner as his eyes fell upon
the speaker.
"Know'd?" he cried sharply. "Ain't 'knowin'' my business? Psha!" His
contempt was withering. Then his manner changed back to the triumph
which the notice had inspired. "Say, it's a great piece of money. It
surely is some bunch. Ten thousand dollars! Gee! His game's up.
Lightfoot's as good as kickin' his heels agin the breezes. He's played
his hand, an'--lost."
And somehow no one seemed inclined to add to his statement. Nor, which
was much more remarkable, contradict it.
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