tle forward, we rode away with ravenous appetites to interview
the cook. Parent maintained his reputation as host, and with a lofty
conversation reviewed the legal aspect of the situation confronting us.
A hasty breakfast over, my brother asked for mounts for himself and
men; and as we were corralling our remuda, one of the three lads on herd
signaled to us from the mesa's summit. Catching the nearest horses at
hand, and taking our wrangler with us, we cantered up the slope to our
waiting sentinel.

"You can't see them now," said Burl Van Vedder, our outlook; "but wait
a few minutes and they'll come up on higher ground. Here, here, you are
looking a mile too far to the right--they're not following the cattle,
but the wagon's trail. Keep your eyes to the left of that shale
outcropping, and on a line with that lone tree on the Saw Log. Hold
your horses a minute; I've been watching them for half an hour before
I called you; be patient, and they'll rise like a trout. There! there
comes one on a gray horse. See those two others just behind him. Now,
there come the others--six all told." Sure enough, there came the
sleuths of deputy sheriffs, trailing up our wagon. They were not over
three miles away, and after patiently waiting nearly an hour, we rode to
the brink of the slope, and I ordered one of the boys to fire his pistol
to attract their attention. On hearing the report, they halted, and
taking off my hat I waved them forward. Feeling that we were on safe
territory, I was determined to get in the first bluff, and as they rode
up, I saluted the leader and said:

"Good-morning, Mr. Sheriff. What are you fooling along on our wagon
track for, when you could have trailed the herd in a long lope? Here
we've wasted a whole hour waiting for you to come up, just because the
sheriff's office of Ford County employs as deputies 'nesters' instead
of plainsmen. But now since you are here, let us proceed to business,
or would you like to breakfast first? Our wagon is just over the other
slope, and you-all look pale around the gills this morning after
your long ride and sleepless night. Which shall it be, business or
breakfast?"

Haughtily ignoring my irony, the leader of the posse drew from his
pocket several papers, and first clearing his throat, said in an
imperious tone, "I have a warrant here for the arrest of Tom Quirk,
alias McIndoo, and a distress warrant for a herd of 'Open A'--"

"Old sport, you're in the right church, bu