eir work. Not a thing. Day and night one
of 'em's on grazin' guard. Them beasties ain't never left to trail off
into the hills. Wal, I guess that's all we ken do--sure. Say, you
can't hold up a gang of ten an' more toughs with a single gun in the
dead, o' night, 'specially with a hole in your guts same as young
Syme's had bored into his. I ain't ast once, nor twice, to hev them
beasties run into the corrals o' nights, and fed hay, same as in
winter. I've ast it fifty times. It's bin up to you, boss. So I say
it's no use in squealin'."

Hank spat over his horse's shoulder, and his thin lips closed with a
snap. He was a lean forceful prairieman who possessed, as he would
himself have said, no parlor tricks. Dug McFarlane, for all his
wealth, for all he had been elected president of the Western Union
Cattle Breeders' Association three years in succession, was no more to
him than any other employer who paid wages for work loyally performed.

Dug regarded his foreman with close attention. He ignored the man's
rough manner. But, nevertheless, it was not without effect.

"And the other boys?"

"Was dead asleep in the bunkhouse--same as me. What 'ud you have?
They ain't sheep dogs."

Dug took no umbrage.

"And they're out on the trail--right now?"

"Sure. Same as we should be, 'stead o' wastin' hot air around here.
Say, I guess you're feelin' sore. But I don't guess your feelin's is a
circumstance to mine, boss. You ain't bin beat to your face by this
lousy gang. I have. An' say, I'm yearnin'--jest gaspin'--to wipe out
the score. I don't sort o' care a bit for your loss. That ain't my
funeral. But they've beat me plumb out--same as if I was some sucker
who ain't never roped an' branded a three-year-old steer since I was
pupped. Are you comin' along? They struck out northwest. We got
that, an' the boys is follerin' hard on their trail. It'll be better'n
squealin' around here."

There could be no doubt about the man's feelings. They were displayed
in every word he spoke. In every glance of his fierce eyes. Dug
approved him. His manners were nothing. Lew was probably the most
capable cattleman in his service.

He was about to follow his foreman who had swung his horse about to set
off northward, when he abruptly flung out an arm, pointing.

"That one of your boys--coming in? Maybe----"

Lew screwed up his eyes in the sunlight. His rep came in a moment.

"Maybe--nuthin'. That ain't o