he two ranches and hardly a day
passed but one or more of its punchers dropped in to say a few words to
their former bunkmate, and to stir up Bill. The Star C, no less than his
own men, swore by The Orphan.

One bright morning the sheriff left for a trip to Chicago and other
packing cities to arrange for future cattle shipments, and announced
that he would be away for a week or two. On the night following his
departure trouble began. The ranch and bunk houses of the Cross Bar-8
were fired into, and when Sneed and his men had returned after a fruitless
search in the dark the foreman stared at the wall and swore. Was it The
Orphan again? In the absence of the sheriff had he renewed the war?
First thought cried that he had, but gradually the idea became untenable.
Why should The Orphan risk his splendid berth on the A-Y, his prospects
now rich in promise, to work off any lingering hatred? When Sneed had
shaken hands with him he found apparent sincerity in the warm clasp. He
would ride over at daylight and have the matter settled once and for
all. And if satisfied that The Orphan was guiltless of the outrage he
would turn his whole attention to the imitator of the former outlaw.

The Orphan was mending his saddle girth when he saw Sneed cantering past
the farthest corral. The latter's horse bore all the signs of hard riding
and he looked up inquiringly at the visitor.

"Good morning, Sneed," he said pleasantly, arising and laying aside the
saddle. "What's up, anything?"

"Yes, and I came over to find out about it," Sneed answered. "I hardly
know how to begin--but here, I'll tell it from the beginning," and he
related what had occurred, much to the wonder of The Orphan.

"Now," finished the visitor, "I want to ask you a question, although I
may be a d----n fool for doing it. But I want to get this thing thrashed
out. Do you know who did it?"

The foreman of the A-Y straightened up, his eyes flashing, and then he
realized that Sneed had some right to question him after what had occurred
in the past.

"No, Sneed, I do not," he answered, "but in two guesses I can name the
man!"

"Good!" cried Sneed. "Go ahead!"

"Bucknell?"

"No, he was with me in the bunk-house," replied the foreman of the Cross
Bar-8. "It wasn't him--go on."

"Tex Williard," said The Orphan with decision.

"Tex?" cried Sneed. "Why?"

"It's plain as day, Sneed," The Orphan answered. "He's sore at me, but
lacks nerve."

"But, thunderation, ho