During the previous afternoon the rider had sat on his horse in the dim haze of distance, watching the Double A outfit round up its cattle; and during the night he had stood on guard, watching the men around the camp fire.

He had seen most of the Double A men return toward the ranchhouse after the trail crew had been selected; he had followed the progress of the herd during the morning.

At noon he halted in a screen of timber and grinned felinely.

"They're off, for certain," he said aloud.

Late that afternoon the man was in Okar, talking with Dale and Silverthorn and Maison.

"What you've been expectin' has happened," he told them. "Sanderson, Carter, an' six men are on the move with a trail herd. They're headed straight on for Las Vegas."

Silverthorn rubbed the palms of his hands together, Maison smirked, and Dale's eyes glowed with satisfaction.

Dale got up and looked at the man who had brought the information.

"All right, Morley," he said with a grin. "Get going; we'll meet up with Sanderson at Devil's Hole."

CHAPTER XIX

A QUESTION OF BRANDS

Trailing a herd of cattle through a strange wild country is no sinecure. There was not a man in the Double A outfit who expected an easy time in trailing the herd to Las Vegas, for it was a rough, grim country, and the men were experienced.

Wild cattle are not tractable; they have an irritating habit of obstinately insisting on finding their own trail, and of persisting in vagaries that are the despair of their escort.

The Double A herd was no exception. On a broad level they behaved fairly well, though always requiring the attention of the men; but in the broken sections of country through which they pa.s.sed, heart-breaking effort was required of the men to keep them headed in the right direction.

The men of the outfit had little sleep during the first two days of the drive. Nights found them hot, tired, and dusty, but with no prospect of an uninterrupted sleep. Still there was no complaint.

On the third night, the herd having been driven about forty miles, the men began to show the effects of their sleepless vigil.

They had bedded the herd down on a level between some hills, near a rocky ford over which the waters of a little stream trickled.

Buck and Andy were on their ponies, slowly circling the herd, singing to the cattle, talking to them, using all their art and persuasion to induce the herd to cease the restless "milling" that had begun with the effort to halt for the night.

Around the camp fire, which had been built at the cook's orders, were Sanderson, Carter, Bud, Sogun, Soapy, and the Kid. Carter stood at a little distance from the fire, watching the herd.

"That's a d.a.m.ned nervous bunch we've got, boys," he called to the other men. "I don't know when I've seen a flightier lot. It wouldn't take much to start 'em!"

"We'll have our troubles gettin' them through Devil's Hole," declared Soapy. Soapy, so called because of his aversion to the valuable toilet preparation so necessary to cleanliness, had a bland, ingenuous face and perplexed, inquiring eyes. He was a capable man, however, despite his pet aversion, and there was concern in his voice when he spoke.

"That's why I wasn't in no hurry to push them too far tonight,"

declared Carter. "I don't want to get anywhere near Devil's Hole in the darkness, an' I want that place quite some miles away when I camp.

I seen a herd stride that quicksand on a run once, an' they wasn't enough of them left to make a good stew.

"If my judgment ain't wrong, an' we can keep them steppin' pretty lively in the mornin', we'll get to Devil's Hole just about noon tomorrow. Then we can ease them through, an' the rest ain't worth talkin' about."

"Devil's Hole is the only trail?" inquired Sanderson.

Carter nodded. The others confirmed the nod. But Carter's desire for an early start the next morning was denied. Bud and Sogun were on guard duty on the morning shift, with the other men at breakfast, when a dozen hors.e.m.e.n appeared from the morning haze westward and headed directly for the camp fire.

"Visitors," announced Soapy, who was first to see the riders.

The Double A men got to their feet to receive the strangers. Sanderson stepped out from the group slightly, and the hors.e.m.e.n came to a halt near him. A big man, plainly the leader of the strangers, dismounted and approached Sanderson.

The man radiated authority. There was a belligerent gleam in his eyes as he looked Sanderson over, an inspection that caused Sanderson's face to redden, so insolent was it. Behind him the big man's companions watched, their faces expressionless, their eyes alert.

"Who's runnin' this outfit?" demanded the man.

"You're talkin' at the boss," said Sanderson.

"I'm the sheriff of Colfax County," said the other, shortly. "There's been a complaint made about you. Bill Lester, of the Bar X, says you've been pickin' up his cattle, crossin' his range, yesterday."

This incident had happened before, both to Sanderson and to Carter.

They had insisted on the right of inspection themselves, when strange herds had been driven through their ranges.

"We want to look your stock over," said the sheriff.

The request was reasonable, and Sanderson smiled.

"That's goin' to hold us up a spell," he returned; "an' we was figurin'

on makin' Devil's Hole before dark. Hop in an' do your inspectin'."

The big man motioned to his followers and the latter spurred to the herd, the other being the last to leave the camp fire.

For two hours the strangers threaded and weaved their horses through the ma.s.s of cattle, while Sanderson and his men, impatient to begin the morning drive, rode around the outskirts and watched them.

"They're takin' a mighty good look," commented Carter at the end of the two hours.

Sanderson's face was set in a frown; he saw that the men were working very slowly, and were conferring together longer than seemed necessary.

At the end of three hours Carter spoke to Sanderson, his voice hoa.r.s.e with rage:

"They're holdin' us up purposely. I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'm goin' to stand for it!"

"Easy there!" cautioned Sanderson. "I've never seen a sheriff that was long on speed. They'll be showin' their hand pretty soon."

Half an hour later the sheriff spurred his horse out of the press and approached Sanderson. His face was grave. His men rode up also, and halted their horses near him. The Double A men had advanced and stood behind Sanderson and Carter.

"There's somethin' wrong here!" he declared, scowling at Sanderson.

"It ain't the first time this dodge has been worked. A man gets up a brand that's mighty like the brand on the range he's goin' to drive through, an' he picks up cattle an' claims they're his. You claim your brand is the Double A." He dismounted and with a branch of chaparral drew a design in the sand.

"This is the way you make your brand," he said, and he pointed out the Double A brand:

[Ill.u.s.tration: Double A and Bar X brands.]