efforts carefully, and directed them on a course that could hurt his
spirit most. Even when his inclinations, his sensibilities were at
their highest pitch, down came the bolt with unerring aim, and surely
in the very direction which, at the moment, could drive him the
hardest, could bow his head the lowest.

Four years in the cattle world had ingrained in him the instincts of a
traffic which possesses a wholesome appeal to all that is most manly
in men. Four years had taught him to abhor crime against that traffic
in a way that was almost as fanatical as it was in such men as McLagan
and those actually bred to it. He was no exception. He had caught the
fever; and the cattleman's fever is not easily shaken off. As McLagan
would show no mercy to his own brother were he a proven cattle-thief,
so Jim loathed the crime in little less degree. And he was about to
face the world, his world, branded with that crime.

It was a terrible thought, a hideous thought, and, in spite of his
squared shoulders, his stiffened back, his spirit, for the time, was
crushed under the burden so unjustly thrust upon him. He thought of
Peter Blunt, and wondered vaguely what he would say. He wondered what
would be the look in the kindly gray eyes when he spoke the words of
comfort and disbelief which he knew would await him. That was it. The
look. It was the thought behind the words that mattered--and could so
hurt.

As the miles swept away under his horse's raking stride, he tried to
puzzle out the riddle, or the "nut" he had set out to crack, as
McLagan had been pleased to call it. He could see no explanation of
it. Why his brand? He knew well enough that cattle rustlers preferred
to use established brands of distant ranches when it was necessary to
hold stolen cattle in hiding before deporting them from the district.
But _his_ brand. It was absurd from a rustler's point of view.
Everybody knew his small bunch of cattle. Any excessive number with
his brand on would excite suspicion. It was surely, as he had said,
the work of a prentice hand. No experienced thief would have done it.

He thought and thought, but he could see no gleam of light on the
matter.

As the miles were covered he still floundered in a maze of speculation
that seemed to lead him nowhither. But his efforts helped him
unconsciously. It kept his mind from brooding on the disaster to
himself, and, to a man of his sensibilities, this was healthy. He had
all the grit to face