eet.

The night was clear and cold, and the air fairly sparkled with the frost
in the brilliant white moonlight. It was a glorious night, and Carl, in
a leather coat lined with fleece, and with a fur cap upon his head, and
his feet in thick felts, started away from the camp on his ride.

There was no wind, but the temperature was very low.

To the north the Sweet Grass Mountains loomed, a black mass against the
sky, while all about the world was carpeted with snow.

Carl had not progressed more than a mile from his camp when he saw a
dark object against the snow some distance in front of him.

At first he thought it might be a bush or a rock, so still it was in the
moonlight.

But he could not remember of ever having seen either a rock or a bush in
that part of the range.

Then he wondered if he was late at the meeting place, and that the other
line rider had got tired of waiting for him, and had ridden forward upon
his line to meet him.

This stimulated him to greater speed, and he pricked up his pony.

But as he got nearer the black blot on the snow there seemed to be
something unusual about it, and he unconsciously slowed his animal down
to a walk.

At last he got within hailing distance, and saw that it was a man on
horseback that he had been approaching.

The man on night duty at the second sign camp was a cow-puncher named
Follansbee, a short, reckless, yet amiable fellow, whom Carl knew well.

The rider who was awaiting him was an unusually large man, and bestrode
an enormous horse. The two were as if they had been carved from ebony,
as they stood silent and absolutely still, outlined sharply against the
dazzlingly white background.

Something inside of Carl began to sink as he went on, slower and slower,
his hand gripping the reins tightly, and holding back on them.

"Vot it is?" he was saying over and over to himself. "Vot it is? Dot is
not Billy Follansbee. Dot man vould make dree times of Follansbee, nit?"

Cold fear was slowly stealing over Carl, and he wanted in his heart to
turn and ride the other way.

But something seemed to draw him forward, and, try as he would, he could
not bring himself to turn back.

The man on the black horse could not be a member of the Long Tom force,
for Carl knew every one of them well, as a fellow will who has camped
with them for months on a cattle drive.

Now Carl was near enough to see the man's face, and he peered eagerly
forward to get a glimpse of i