need persuading," he commented. "'Tis well ye've got the
artillery moving. What's next?"

"The next thing is to get out the best team you have, the one that will
make the best time, and send it to the end of track to meet Bromley's
special. How far is it--six miles, or thereabouts?"

"Seven, or maybe a little worse. I'll go with the team myself, and push
on the reins. Do I bring the gun here?"

Ballard thought a moment. "No; since we're to handle this thing by
ourselves, there is no need of making talk in the camps. Do you know a
little sand creek in the hogback called Dry Valley?"

"Sure, I do."

"Good. Make a straight line for the head of that arroyo, and we'll meet
you there, Blacklock and I, with an extra saddle-horse."

Fitzpatrick was getting a duck driving-coat out of a locker.

"What's your notion, Mr. Ballard?--if a man might be asking?"

"Wait, and you'll see," was the crisp reply. "It will work; you'll see
it work like a charm, Bourke. But you must burn the miles with that team
of broncos. We'll be down and out if you don't make connections with the
Maxim. And say; toss a coil of that quarter-inch rope into your wagon as
you go. We'll need that, too."

When the contractor was gone, Ballard called the collegian into the pay
office and put him in touch with the pressing facts. A raid was to be
made on Colonel Craigmiles's cattle by a band of cattle thieves; the
raid was to be prevented; means to the preventing end--three men and a
Maxim automatic rapid-fire gun. Would Blacklock be one of the three?

"Would a hungry little dog eat his supper, Mr. Ballard? By Jove! but
you're a good angel in disguise--to let me in for the fun! And you've
pressed the right button, too, by George! There's a Maxim in the
military kit at college, and I can work her to the queen's taste."

"Then you may consider yourself chief of the artillery," was the prompt
rejoinder. "I suppose I don't need to ask if you can ride a range pony?"

Blacklock's laugh was an excited chuckle.

"Now you're shouting. What I don't know about cow-ponies would make the
biggest book you ever saw. But I'd ride a striped zebra rather than be
left out of this. Do we hike out now?--right away?"

"There is no rush; you can smoke a pipe or two--as I'm going to.
Fitzpatrick has to drive fourteen miles to work off his handicap."

Ballard filled his pipe and lighting it sat down to let the mental
polishing wheels grind upon the details of his plan. Bl