ew Turns Up 245
XXI Julie Investigates 253
XXII The Use of Photography 265
XXIII The Crossing 279
XXIV The Story of Lester 289
XXV The Threads Meet 301

THE FREE RANGE

CHAPTER I

FLINGING THE GAUNTLET

"Then you insist on ruining me, Mr. Bissell?"

Bud Larkin, his hat pushed back on his head, looked unabashed at the
scowling heavy features of the man opposite in the long, low room, and
awaited a reply.

"I don't want to ruin anybody," puffed old "Beef" Bissell, whose cattle
overran most of the range between the Gray Bull and the Big Horn. "But I
allow as how them sheep of yours had better stay down Nebrasky way where
they come from."

"In other words," snapped Larkin, "I had better give up the idea of
bringing them north altogether. Is that it?"

"Just about."

"Well, now, see here, Mr. Bissell, you forget one or two things. The first
is, that my sheep ranch is in Montana and not Wyoming, and that I want to
run my southern herds onto the northern range before fall sets in. The
second is, that, while your homestead may be three hundred and twenty
acres, the range that has made you rich is free. My sheep have as much
right there as your cattle. It is all government land and open to
everybody."

"Possession is eleven points out here where there isn't any law," replied
Bissell imperturbably. "It's a case of your sheep against my cattle, and,
you see, I stand up reg'lar for my cows."

Bud rolled a cigarette and pondered.

He was in the rather bare and unornamental living-room of the Bar T ranch.
In the center was a rough-hewn table supporting an oil-lamp and an Omaha
newspaper fully six months old. The chairs, except one, were rough and
heavy and without rockers. This one was a gorgeous plush patent-rocker so
valued a generation ago, and evidently imported at great expense.

A square of carpet that had lost all claims to pattern had become a soft
blur, the result of age and alkali. However, it was one of the proudest
possessions of the Bar T outfit and showed that old Beef Bissell knew what
the right thing was. A calico shroud hid a large, erect object against
the wall farthest away from the windows; an object that was the last word
in luxury and reckless expense--a piano. The walls were of boards
whitewashed, and the ceiling was just plain boards.

It had not taken Bud Larkin long to discern that there w