't seem to be either, and he
does his work well. Only I don't know what to make of his actions
to-night. Warts! On a steer! That sounded fishy to me!"

"Same here!" agreed Dick.

But as several days passed, and nothing more suspicious occurred, the
action of Pocut Pete was rather forgotten. Nor was there any further
trouble with the rustlers, or the lack of water. In spite of the
warnings and veiled threats that had been received, the black pipe
still spouted into the reservoir.

And then, like lightning out of a clear sky, came a bolt that gave the
boy ranchers a shock.

Old Billee riding in from off the distant range one day, called to Bud
who was opening some of the reservoir gates to let water run to a
distant trough for the cattle.

"Bad business, Bud!" exclaimed the veteran.

"What's that?" asked the lad, with an instinctive glance at the black
pipe, whence the water spouted. His first thought was of that.

"There's five of your steers dead, over near the last water trough!"
was the answer.

"Steers dead!" gasped Bud. "Rustlers?" he asked, quickly.

"Don't 'pear to be," Billee answered. "There isn't a mark on 'em.
Maybe it's glanders. Better get Doc. Tunison right over."

Which Bud did, by telephone.

The veterinarian, who looked after the health of cattle in that
vicinity, appeared in due season. Bud, with his cousins and Old Billee
went out to where the dead cattle lay, now stiff and stark. Some
buzzards flopped heavily off as the party approached.

"Hum!" mused Dr. Tunison as he began his examination. It did not take
him long to complete it. "I thought so," he remarked, as he looked at
Bud.

"What is it?"

"Germs!" was the answer. "The epidemic's struck you, Bud!"

CHAPTER XVIII

ROPED!

Like a blow struck came that announcement to Bud Merkel. And to his
chums and partners in their first small venture as boy ranchers on
their own responsibility, the announcement of the veterinarian was
staggering.

"Germs!" exclaimed Nort.

"Epidemic!" voiced Dick.

"Has it really struck here--the same disease that was among dad's
cattle?" asked Bud, as though hoping there might be some mistake.

"It's here all right," went on Dr. Tunison, rising from his stooping
position beside a dead steer. He looked about for a puddle of water in
which to wash his hands, and, having completed the operation, using a
disinfectant from a bottle he produced, he added: "Better fence off
this p