l
fortune, and rightfully belonged to Tip McCay and his mother. But
where were the longhorns now?

Tip's suggestion was helpful. He thought the cattle could not be more
than a few miles below. They quickly decided to ride south, and Tip
and The Kid led the way. The moon was up now, and it lighted the open
prairie with a soft glow. The five riders pounded down the old
Chisholm cattle road at a furious clip, eyes open for signs. Presently
Tip cried:

"We'll find 'em down there at Green Springs! I see a light! It's a
camp fire!"

On the horizon they made out the feathery tops of trees against the
sky, and riding closer, they could see a dark mass bunched up around
them--little dots straying out at the edges. It was the stolen McCay
herd!

No general on the field of battle planned more carefully than the
Texan. The party came closer, warily and making no noise. As they did
so, they could hear the bawling of the cattle. Some were milling and
restless, and the cattleman could see four men on horses at different
points, attempting to keep the animals quiet and soothed. At the camp
fire, several hundred yards from the springs, were four other men. Two
of these seemed to be asleep in their blankets; the other pair were
talking and smoking.

"The odds," drawled Kid Wolf in a low tone, "are eight to five in theah
favah. Tip, yo' take the man on the no'th. Scotty, yores is the
hombre on the west, ridin' the pinto. Caldwell, take the south man,
and yo', White, do yo' best with the gent ovah east."

"How about those four by the fire?" whispered White.

"I'm takin' them myself." The Texan smiled. "We must all work
togethah. They won't know who we are at first, probably, and will
think we're moah of Hardy's men. Don't shoot unless yo' have to."

One of the two bearded ruffians by the camp fire clutched his
companion's sleeve. Two other men lay snoring on the other side of the
crackling embers, and one of them stirred slightly.

"Bill," he muttered, "didn't yuh hear somethin'?"

"I hear a lot o' cows bawlin'." The other grinned. "But what I was
tryin' to say is this: If Jack Hardy splits reasonable with us, why
we----"

He was interrupted. Both men glanced up, to see a tall figure
sauntering toward them into the ring of red firelight. Both stared,
then reached for their guns.

"Sorry, gents," they were told in a soft and musical drawl, "but yo're
a little late. Will yo' kindly poke yo' hand