evable. Not rustling any more, but just
wholesale herd-stealing, in which some big cattlemen, supposed to be
honest, are equally guilty with the outlaws. On this border, you know,
the rustler has always been able to steal cattle in any numbers. But to
get rid of big bunches--that's the hard job. The gang operating between
here and Valentine evidently have not this trouble. Nobody knows where
the stolen stock goes. But I'm not alone in my opinion that most of
it goes to several big stockmen. They ship to San Antonio, Austin, New
Orleans, also to El Paso. If you travel the stock-road between here and
Marfa and Valentine you'll see dead cattle all along the line and stray
cattle out in the scrub. The herds have been driven fast and far, and
stragglers are not rounded up."

"Wholesale business, eh?" remarked Duane. "Who are these--er--big
stock-buyers?"

Colonel Webb seemed a little startled at the abrupt query. He bent his
penetrating gaze upon Duane and thoughtfully stroked his pointed beard.

"Names, of course, I'll not mention. Opinions are one thing, direct
accusation another. This is not a healthy country for the informer."

When it came to the outlaws themselves Colonel Webb was disposed to talk
freely. Duane could not judge whether the Colonel had a hobby of that
subject or the outlaws were so striking in personality and deed that
any man would know all about them. The great name along the river was
Cheseldine, but it seemed to be a name detached from an individual. No
person of veracity known to Colonel Webb had ever seen Cheseldine,
and those who claimed that doubtful honor varied so diversely in
descriptions of the chief that they confused the reality and lent to
the outlaw only further mystery. Strange to say of an outlaw leader, as
there was no one who could identify him, so there was no one who could
prove he had actually killed a man. Blood flowed like water over the
Big Bend country, and it was Cheseldine who spilled it. Yet the fact
remained there were no eye-witnesses to connect any individual called
Cheseldine with these deeds of violence. But in striking contrast to
this mystery was the person, character, and cold-blooded action of
Poggin and Knell, the chief's lieutenants. They were familiar figures in
all the towns within two hundred miles of Bradford. Knell had a record,
but as gunman with an incredible list of victims Poggin was supreme.
If Poggin had a friend no one ever heard of him. There were