legal question the sheep men may try to
jump some of your claims."

"Oh, I guess not," said Mr. Merkel easily. "My papers are all in my
safe, and I can prove title by them easily enough. But, gentlemen,
what are we going to do? That's the question now. What are we
going----"

Mr. Merkel never finished that sentence. For he was interrupted by a
fusillade of shots just outside--shots in the night.

An instant later every man in the conference room, and the boy ranchers
included, had leaped to his feet, and many hands sought the "guns" that
were within easy reach.

"Some of your cowboys disporting themselves?" asked Mr. Ogden of the
owner of Diamond X.

Mr. Merkel shook his head.

"Nothing like that," he remarked.

Some one yelled--there were more shots and then the voice of Slim
Degnan, foreman of the ranch, was heard shouting:

"Get after 'em, boys! Head 'em off!"

"It's a stampede!" yelled Bud. "Come on, fellows!"

CHAPTER II

MISSING PAPERS

Nort and Dick lost no time following their cowboy cousin, Bud, outside
the ranch house, and each of the three lads, as well as Mr. Merkel and
his associates, had caught up one of the heavy revolvers that were
never far from their hands. For, as has been said of the West, a man
doesn't always need a gun out there, but when he does need it, he needs
it "mighty bad and mighty sudden."

The boy ranchers were taking no chances.

"What's the matter, Slim?" asked Bud as he rushed outside and saw a
group of cowboys near the foreman. They were vaulting to the saddles
of their horses which had hurriedly been turned out of the home corral.

"Rustlers!" cried Nort. "Is it rustlers, Slim?"

"Might be, for all I can tell," was the answer. "I saw some men riding
along out there, and when I called to know who they were they didn't
answer, which was suspicious in itself. Then I told 'em to stop until
I could get a look at 'em, but they turned and made off, and that was
worse, so I fired a couple of times after 'em."

"Where are they now?" asked Dick.

"That's what we're going to find out; son," was the foreman's grim
answer. "You there, Babe?" he called to his fat assistant, who
rejoiced in the diminutive nickname.

"All there is of me," was the sighing answer. "Stand still there, you
slab-sided chunk of salt pork!" he called to his horse, which was
nervously swerving about. And Babe Milton was too heavy to be a quick
mounter. He needed special atten