on the right-hand side, where the family
saddle horses were kept in winter, as well as the small amount of hay that
Bissell put up every year.

To the left of the corral the space was open, and here the Bar T punchers
had made their camp since leaving their former quarters. The bunk-house on
the other hand stood perhaps fifty feet forward of the barn. It was toward
this building that the expedition under Sims took its way.

Silently the rough door swung back on its rawhide hinges and ten men, with
a revolver in each hand, filed quietly in. Sims and Larkin remained
outside on guard. Presently there was a sound of muttering and cursing
that grew louder. Then one yell, and the solid thud of a revolver butt
coming in contact with a human skull. After that there was practically no
noise whatever.

The men outside watched anxiously, fearful that the single outcry had
raised an alarm. But there was no sound from either the house or the
cowboys' camp. Presently Welsh stuck his head out of the door.

"How is she? Safe?" he asked.

"Yes, bring 'em out," answered Bud, and the next minute a strange
procession issued from the bunk-house.

The cowmen, gagged, and with their hands bound behind them, walked single
file, accompanied by one of the sheepmen. Without a word the line turned
in the direction of the river bottoms, where the rest of the band and the
horses were waiting.

To do this it was necessary to pass behind the cook-house. Bud leaned over
and spoke to Sims.

"Can't we get Bissell in this party? He's the fellow that has made all the
trouble."

"Sure, Jimmy and I will go in and get him. I had forgotten all about
him."

But they were saved the trouble, for just as they were opposite the
cook-house, Larkin saw a burly form outlined for an instant in the doorway
of the cowboys' dining-room. With three bounds he was upon this form and
arrived just in time to seize a hand that was vainly tugging at a
revolver strapped on beneath his night clothes.

Had fortune not tangled Bissell's equipment that night Bud Larkin would
have been a dead man. Snatching off his hat, he smashed it over the cattle
king's mouth, and an instant later Bissell, writhing and struggling, but
silent, was being half-carried out to join his friends.

Matters now proceeded with speed and smoothness. The prisoners were
hurried to where the remainder of the band awaited them. Then, still bound
and gagged, they were mounted on spare horses.

On