ing fine--" drawled the hunter, again
shrugging.

"Humph!" grunted Knowles. "A fine might get you off for deer. Shooting
stock, though, is a penitentiary offense--when the criminal is lucky
enough to get into court."

"Criminal!" repeated Ashton, flushing. "I have explained who I am. My
father could buy out this entire cattle country, and never know it.
I'll do it myself, some day, and turn the whole thing into a game
preserve."

"When you do," warned Gowan, "you'd better hunt a healthier climate."

"What we're concerned with now," interposed Knowles, "is this
yearling."

"The live or the dead one, Daddy?" asked the girl, her cheeks
dimpling.

"What d'you--Aw--_haw! haw! haw!_--The live or the dead one! Catch
that, Kid? The live or the dead one! _Haw! haw! haw!_"

The cowman fairly roared with laughter. Neither of the young men
joined in his hilarious outburst. Gowan waited, cold and unsmiling.
Ashton stiffened with offended dignity.

"I told you that the shooting of the animal was unintentional," he
said. "I shall settle the affair by paying you the price usually asked
for veal."

"You will?" said the cowman, looking down at the indignant tenderfoot
with a twinkle in his mirth-reddened eyes. "Well, we don't usually
sell veal on the range. But I'll let you have this yearling at cutlet
prices. Fifty dollars is the figure."

"Why, Daddy," interrupted the girl, "half that would be--"

"On the hoof, yes; but he's buying dressed veal," broke in the cowman,
and he smiled grimly at the culprit. "Fifty dollars is cheap for a
deer hunter who goes round shooting up the country out of season. He
can take his choice--pay for his veal or make a trip to the county
seat."

"That's talking, Mr. Knowles," approved Gowan. "We'll corral him at
Stockchute in that little log calaboose. He'll have a peach of a time
talking the jury out of sending him up for rustling."

"This is an outrage--rank robbery!" complained Ashton. "Of course you
know I will pay rather than be inconvenienced by an interruption of
my hunting." He thrust his slender hand into his pocket, and drew it
out empty.

"Dead broke!" jeered Gowan.

Ashton shrugged disdainfully. "I have money at my camp. If that is not
enough to pay your blackmail, my valet has gone back to the railway
with my guide for a remittance of a thousand dollars, which must have
come on a week ago."

"Your camp is at the waterhole on Dry Fork," stated Knowles. "Saw a
big smoke ov