iantly a splash of tobacco juice on a flat pebble which his eye
found. "No such thing! This calf was a maverick. Ask Phyl. She'll tell
you I'm no rustler."

Phyllis said nothing. Her gaze was very steadily on Tom.

Keller pointed to the evidence which the hoof of the horse had printed
on the trail, and to that which the man had written on the pebble. "We
found both these signs once before. They were left by one of the
rustlers operating in this vicinity. That time it was a Twin Star brand
you blotted. You've done a poor job, for I can see there has been
another brand there. Your partner left you with the cow at the entrance
to the canon. Caught red-handed as you have been driving the calf to
your place, you'll find all this aggregates evidence enough to send you
to the penitentiary. Buck Weaver will attend to that."

"It's a conspiracy. You and him mean to railroad me through," Tom
charged sullenly. "I tell you, Phyllis knows I'm no rustler."

"I've known you were one ever since the day you wanted to go back and
tell where Weaver was hidden. You and your pony scattered the evidence
around then, just as you're doing here," the ranger answered.

"You've got it cooked up to put me through," Dixon insisted desperately.
"You want to get me out of the way, so you'll have a clear track with
Phyl. Think I don't _sabe_ your game?"

The angry color sucked into Keller's face beneath the tan. He avoided
looking at Phyllis. "We'll not discuss that, seh. But I can say that
kind of talk won't help buy you anything."

The girl looked at Dixon in silent contempt. She was very angry, so that
for the moment her embarrassment was swamped. But she did not choose to
dignify his spleen by replying to it.

There was no iron in Dixon's make-up. When he saw that this attack had
reacted against him, he tried whining.

"Honest, you're wrong about this calf, Mr. Keller. I don't say, mind
you, it ain't a rustled calf. It may be; but I don't know it if it is.
Maybe the rustlers were scared off just before I happened on it."

"We'll see how a jury looks at that. You're going to get the chance to
tell that story to one, I expect," Larrabie remarked dryly.

"Pass it up this time, and I'll get out of the country," the youth
promised.

"Take care! Whatever you say will be used against you."

"Suppose I did rustle one of Buck Weaver's calves--mind, I don't say I
did--but say I did? Didn't he bust my father up in business? Ain't he
aiming to