double handicap, in this country, of
having gone in for sheep and having been beaten at it the very first
thing. Consequently, if he ever expected to gain any caste, or at least a
hearing, he must turn the tables and that as soon as possible.

At the present moment, as he washed his face in the thick white wash-bowl
that made the guest-room of the Bar T celebrated for leagues around, he
had nothing but the remotest ideas of how this might be done. The fact, in
brief, was that his sheep were and would continue piling up in the hills
north of the Badwater, ready to enter the hazardous stretch of dry
territory that had so nearly been disastrous to his first flock.

Until he should be free and could reconnoiter his chances and resources he
would hesitate to order them sent north. And yet they could not stay
forever near the Badwater. Neither could they be halted on their march
north, because they were crossing the range of Wyoming sheepmen at the
time and common plains courtesy demanded that they be removed as fast as
possible.

But for the fact that Sims was in personal charge Bud Larkin would have
been in utter despair. Such was his confidence in his indolent herdsman
that he felt that though ultimate failure attended their efforts no blame
could ever be attached to Sims.

Leaving the guest-chamber, Larkin immediately stepped into the dining-room
and the gloomy thoughts fled, for there sat Juliet near the window,
sewing. She greeted him with a smile and immediately rose.

"Well, Mr. Man, I thought you would never wake up," she remarked in mock
reproof. "I've been waiting here since dinner to see that you had
something to eat when you came out. You must be wild hungry."

"I could eat a saddle," said Larkin.

"Sorry, but the saddles are all out," she replied with a smile. "However,
we have some nice fresh broiled quirts, garnished with rawhide."

"Bring me a double order," said Bud, laughing, as he seated himself.

When he was almost through with his meal Juliet remarked:

"Father asked me to say that he would like to have a talk with you on the
veranda when you were ready."

"I'll go right out," he answered, thanking her for the trouble she had
taken.

He found Bissell seated in one of the big chairs outside, and took the
other. Both men rolled a cigarette and then Bissell spoke.

"I owe you a great deal, Larkin, for saving my daughter last night," he
said with genuine emotion in his voice. "Under the circum