ok somewhere
else. Now, listen some more."

He told them that they would find two more rifles and a shotgun at the
range house. To this information he added that they could pack up some
grub and hit the trail along with him. For he was going to bring his
cattle back if he had to ride through three states to get them and back
through hell to drive them home.

The men rode away to the range house talking among themselves, and King
swung about upon Thornton.

"Hello, Buck," he said shortly.

"Hello, King. Anything I can do?"

"Not for me," said King drily. "How about yourself? Lost any cows off'n
the Poison Hole?"

"Not a one. The rustlers seem to be giving me a wide berth. I've had my
men out every night, though. Maybe they've got wise."

King looked at him sharply. And Thornton was vaguely aware in that swift
glance of something which made but little impression on him at the time,
something which he forgot even as he saw it, imagining he had misread
but something to be remembered in the days that followed: it was a cool,
steely look of suspicion.

"Mebbe," King grunted. "It's happenin' all _aroun'_ you. I wasn't sayin'
much so long's it didn't come too close the Bar X. An' now I ain't goin'
to _say_ much."

Thornton finished his errand with Old Man King and saw him with his men
ride away into the little hills of the range. Then he was turning back
toward the Poison Hole when young King, riding around the corner of the
barn, called to him.

"Hello, Bud," Thornton said casually. "What's the word?"

Bud King rode up to him before he answered. Then, sitting loosely in
the saddle, his eyes meditative upon one free, swinging boot, he
answered.

"There's a dance over to the school house tonight, for one thing.
Coming, Buck?"

Thornton shook his head.

"No. Hadn't heard of it and I guess I'll be busy enough without prancing
out to dances." And then, a little curiosity in his even tones, "How
does it happen you're not out hunting rustlers with the old man?"

Young King lifted his head and again Thornton saw in a man's eyes a
thing which was so vague that it went almost unnoted, a look of veiled
suspicion.

"The old man hunts his way and I hunt mine," Bud King said briefly. "And
besides, I haven't been to a shindig for six months."

A little flush ran up into his face under Thornton's level glance, and
Buck laughed softly.

"Who's the girl, Bud?" he challenged.

"Aw, go chase yourself," Bud flung back at