ave displayed such an
abundant grace in the saddle with their rigid habits and smart hats.
There was nothing of the riding-school here; just the horsemanship
that is so much a natural instinct.

And so they rode on to the ranch.

CHAPTER VI

THE KILLING OF MANSON ORR

All was still and drowsy about the ranch. Every available hand was out
at work upon some set task, part of the daily routine of the cattle
world. Mosquito Bend was a splendid example of discipline, for Jake
was never the man to let his men remain idle. Even Arizona had been
set to herd the milch cows and generally tend the horses remaining in
the barn; and Tresler, too, was further acquainting himself with the
cantankerous nature of barbed-wire fencing.

On this particular afternoon there was nothing about the ranch to
indicate the undercurrent of trouble Tresler had so quickly discovered
to be flowing beneath its calm surface. The sun was pouring down upon
the wiltering foliage with a fierceness which had set the insect world
droning its drowsy melody; the earth was already parching; the sloughs
were already dry, and the tall grass therein was rapidly ripening
against the season of haying. But in spite of the seeming peace; in
spite of the cloudless sky, the pastoral beauty of the scene, the
almost inaudible murmur of the distant river, the tide was flowing
swiftly and surely. It was leaping with the roar of a torrent.

A clatter of horse's hoofs broke up the quiet, and came rattling over
the river trail. The noise reached Jake's ears and set him alert. He
recognized the eager haste, the terrific speed, of the animal
approaching. He rose from his bunk and stood ready, and a look of deep
interest was in his bold black eyes. Suddenly a horseman came into
view. He was leaning well over his horse's neck, urging to a race with
whip and spur. Jake saw him sweep by and breast the rise to the
rancher's house.

At the verandah the man flung off his horse, and left the drooping
beast standing while he hammered at the door. There was some delay,
and he repeated his summons still more forcibly, adding his voice to
his demand.

"Hello there!" he called. "Any one in?"

"Archie Orr," Jake muttered to himself, as he stepped out of his hut.

The next moment the man at the verandah was caught up in the full
blast of the foreman's half-savage and wholly hectoring protest.

"What blazin' racket are you raisin' ther'?" he roared, charging up
the hill wi