s out, an' talk less with yore mouth."

"Pete's still rabid," called Billy, performing the duty Pete suggested.

"That may be the polite name for it," snorted one of the iron heaters,
testing an iron, "but that ain't what I'd say. Might as well cover the
subject thoroughly while yo're on it."

"Yes, verily," endorsed his companion.

"Here comes the last of 'em," smiled Pete, watching several cattle being
driven towards the chute. "We'll have to brand 'em on the move, Billy;
there ain't enough to fill the chute."

"All right; hot iron, you!"

Early the next morning the inspector looked them over and made his
count, the herd was started north and at nightfall had covered twelve
miles. For the next week everything went smoothly, but after that, water
began to be scarce and the herd was pushed harder, and became harder to
handle.

On the night of the twelfth day out four men sat around the fire in
West Valley at a point a dozen miles south of Bennett's Creek, and ate
heartily. The night was black--not a star could be seen and the south
wind hardly stirred the trampled and burned grass. They were thoroughly
tired out and their tempers were not in the sweetest state imaginable,
for the heat during the last four days had been almost unbearable even
to them and they had had their hands full with the cranky herd. They ate
silently, hungrily--there would be time enough for the few words they
had to say when the pipes were going for a short smoke before turning
in.

"I feel like hell," growled Red, reaching for another cup of coffee, but
there was no reply; he had voiced the feelings of all.

Hopalong listened intently and looked up, staring into the darkness, and
soon a horseman was seen approaching the fire. Hopalong nodded welcome
and waved his hand towards the food, and the stranger, dismounting,
picketed his horse and joined the circle. When the pipes were lighted he
sighed with satisfaction and looked around the group. "Driving north, I
see."

"Yes; an' blamed glad to get off this dry range," Hopalong replied.
"The herd's getting cranky an' hard to hold--but when we pass the creek
everything'll be all right again. An' ain't it hot! When you hear us
kick about the heat it means something."

"I'm going yore way," remarked the stranger. "I came down this trail
about two weeks ago. Reckon I was the last to ride through before the
fence went up. Damned outrage, says I, an' I told 'em so, too. They
couldn't see it th