into
its holster, and went jingling from the room. He looked insolently at
Crawford as he passed.

"Different here. If it was my say-so I'd go through."

Hart administered first aid to his friend. "I'm servin' notice, Miller,
that some day I'll bust you wide and handsome for this," he said, looking
straight at the fat gambler. "You have give Dave a raw deal, and you'll
not get away with it."

"I pack a gun. Come a-shootin' when you're ready," retorted Miller.

"Tha's liable to be right soon, you damn horsethief. We've rid 'most a
hundred miles to have a li'l' talk with you and yore pardner there."

"Shoutin' about that race yet, are you? If I wasn't a better loser than
you--"

"Don't bluff, Miller. You know why we trailed you."

Doble edged into the talk. He was still short of wind, but to his thick
wits a denial seemed necessary. "We ain't got yore broncs."

"Who mentioned our broncs?" Hart demanded, swiftly.

"Called Ad a horsethief, didn't you?"

"So he is. You, too. You've got our ponies. Not in yore vest pockets, but
hid out in the brush somewheres. I'm servin' notice right now that Dave
and me have come to collect."

Dave opened his eyes upon a world which danced hazily before him. He had
a splitting headache.

"Wha's the matter?" he asked.

"You had a run-in with a bunch of sheep wranglers," Bob told him.
"They're going to be plumb sorry they got gay."

Presently Shorty returned. "That team's hooked up," he told the world at
large.

"You'll drive us, Steelman," announced Crawford.

"Me!" screamed the leader of the other faction. "You got the most nerve
I ever did see."

"Sure. Drive him home, Brad," advised Shorty with bitter sarcasm. "Black
his boots. Wait on him good. Step lively when yore new boss whistles." He
cackled with splenetic laughter.

"I dunno as I need to drive you home," Steelman said slowly, feeling his
way to a decision. "You know the way better'n I do."

The eyes of the two leaders met.

"You'll drive," the cattleman repeated steadily.

The weak spot in Steelman's leadership was that he was personally not
game. Crawford had a pungent personality. He was dynamic, strong, master
of himself in any emergency. The sheepman's will melted before his
insistence. He dared not face a showdown.

"Oh, well, what's it matter? We can talk things over on the way. Me, I'm
not lookin' for trouble none," he said, his small black eyes moving
restlessly to watch the effect of this on h