I am going to cut it."

"YOU ARE NOT!"

Transley's muscles could be seen to go tense beneath his shirt.

"Who will stop me?" he demanded.

"You will be stopped."

"The Mounted Police?" There was contempt in his voice, but the contempt
was not for the Force. It was for the rancher who would appeal to the
police to settle a "friendly" dispute.

"No, I don't think it will be necessary to call in the police," returned
Grant, dropping back to his pleasant, casual manner. "You know Y.D.,
and doubtless you feel quite safe under his wing. But you don't know
Landson. Neither do you know the facts of the case--the right and wrong
of it. Under these handicaps you cannot reach a decision which is fair
to yourself and to your men."

"Further argument is simply waste of time," Transley interrupted. "I
have told you my instructions, and I have told you that I am going to
carry them out. Have you had your supper?"

"Yes, thanks. All right, we won't argue any more. I'm not arguing
now--I'm telling you, Y.D. has cut hay in this valley so long he thinks
he owns it, and the other ranchers began to think he owned it. But
Landson has been making a few inquiries. He finds that these are not
Crown lands, but are privately owned by speculators in New York. He has
contracted with the owners for the hay rights of these lands for five
years, beginning with the present season. He is already cutting farther
down the valley, and will be cutting here within a day or two."

"The trout ought to bite on a fine evening like this," said Transley. "I
have an extra rod and some flies. Will you try a throw or two with me?"

"I would be glad to, but I must get back to camp. I hope you land a good
string," and so saying Grant remounted, nodded to Transley and again to
the men now scattered about the camp, and started his horse on an easy
lope down the valley.

"Well, what is it to be?" said Linder, coming up with the rest of the
boys. "War?"

"War if they fight," Transley replied, unconcernedly. "Y.D. said cut the
hay; 'spite o' hell an' high water,' he said. That goes."

Slowly the great orb of the sun sank until the crest of the mountains
pierced its molten glory and sent it burnishing their rugged heights. In
the east the plains were already wrapped in shadow. Up the valley crept
the veil of night, hushing even the limitless quiet of the day. The
stream babbled louder in the lowering gloom; the stamp and champing of
horses grew less insiste