through this butte before----"

"I know that. It isn't your talk," interrupted Miss Emory, "but the sun
is hot--and--haven't you anything at all to eat?"

"Suffering giraffes!" cried Windy above the chorus of dismay.
"Lunkheads! chumps! Of all the idiot plays ever made in this territory!"
He turned to the dismayed group. "Ain't any one of you boys had sense
enough to bring any grub?"

But nobody had. The old-fashioned Arizona cowboy ate only twice a day.
It would never occur to him to carry a lunch for noon. Still, they might
have considered a rescue party's probable needs.

We mounted and started for the Box Springs ranch. They had at least
known enough to bring extra horses.

"Old Hooper knows the cat is out of the bag now," I suggested as we rode
along.

"He sure does."

"Do you think he'll stick: or will he get out?"

"He'll stick."

"I don't know----" I argued, doubtfully.

"I do," with great positiveness.

"Why are you so sure?"

"There are men in the brush all around his ranch to see that he does."

"For heaven's sake how many have you got together?" I cried, astonished.

"About three hundred," said Jed.

"What's the plan?"

"I don't know. They were chewing over it when I left. But I'll bet
something's going to pop. There's a bunch of 'em on that sweet little
list you-all dug up."

We rode slowly. It was near five o'clock when we pulled down the lane
toward the big corrals. The latter were full of riding horses, and the
fences were topped with neatly arranged saddles. Men were everywhere,
seated in rows on top rails, gathered in groups, leaning idly against
the ranch buildings. There was a feeling of waiting.

We were discovered and acclaimed with a wild yell that brought everybody
running. Immediately we were surrounded. Escorted by a clamouring
multitude we moved slowly down the lane and into the enclosure.

There awaited us a dozen men headed by Buck Johnson. They emerged from
the office as we drew up. At sight of them the cowboys stopped, and we
moved forward alone. For here were the substantial men of this part of
the territory, the old timers, who had come in the early days and who
had persisted through the Indian wars, the border forays, the cattle
rustlings, through drought and enmity and bad years. A grim, elderly,
four-square, unsmiling little band of granite-faced pioneers, their very
appearance carried a conviction of direct and, if necessary, ruthless
action. At sight of them