To The Last Man
During June Jean Isbel did not ride far away from Grass Valley.
Another attempt had been made upon Gaston Isbel's life. Another cowardly shot had been
fired from ambush, this time from a pine thicket bordering the trail that led to Blaisdell's
ranch. Blaisdell heard this shot, so near his home was it fired. No trace of the hidden foe
could be found. The 'ground all around that vicinity bore a carpet of pine needles which
showed no trace of footprints. The supposition was that this cowardly attempt had been
perpetrated, or certainly instigated, by the Jorths. But there was no proof. And Gaston
Isbel had other enemies in the Tonto Basin besides the sheep clan. The old man raged
like a lion about this sneaking attack on him. And his friend Blaisdell urged an immediate
gathering of their kin and friends. "Let's quit ranchin' till this trouble's settled," he
declared. "Let's arm an' ride the trails an' meet these men half-way. . . . It won't help our
side any to wait till you're shot in the back." More than one of Isbel's supporters offered
the same advice.
"No; we'll wait till we know for shore," was the stubborn cattleman's reply to all these
"Know! Wal, hell! Didn't Jean find the black hoss up at Jorth's ranch?" demanded
Blaisdell. "What more do we want?"
"Jean couldn't swear Jorth stole the black."
"Wal, by thunder, I can swear to it!" growled Blaisdell. "An' we're losin' cattle all the
time. Who's stealin' 'em?"
"We've always lost cattle ever since we started ranchin' heah."
"Gas, I reckon yu want Jorth to start this fight in the open."
"It'll start soon enough," was Isbel's gloomy reply.
Jean had not failed altogether in his tracking of lost or stolen cattle. Circumstances had
been against him, and there was something baffling about this rustling. The summer
storms set in early, and it had been his luck to have heavy rains wash out fresh tracks that
he might have followed. The range was large and cattle were everywhere. Sometimes a
loss was not discovered for weeks. Gaston Isbel's sons were now the only men left to ride
the range. Two of his riders had quit because of the threatened war, and Isbel had let
another go. So that Jean did not often learn that cattle had been stolen until their tracks
were old. Added to that was the fact that this Grass Valley country was covered with
horse tracks and cattle tracks. The rustlers, whoever they were, had long been at the
game, and now that there was reason for them to show their cunning they did it.