satisfaction, the foreman
recollected with delight that the rustlers must have the fifteen hundred
cows well up the range by this morning. The chance of their being
intercepted by the cowboys was small, and the probabilities were that they
would be at the northern shipping-point and well out of the way before the
punchers had finished with the miserable sheep.

Two things Mike Stelton had not counted on. One was the prompt and daring
action of Larkin in risking his all on one forced march up the range; the
other was the treachery of Smithy Caldwell in not burning the note
according to instructions.

From the first Stelton had "doped" Caldwell out all wrong. He took him for
a really evil character supplied with a fund of sly cunning and clever
brains that would benefit the rustlers immensely, and for that reason had
warmly supported his application for membership. Somehow he did not see
the cowardly streak and dangerous selfishness that were the man's two
distinguishing traits.

Now, as Stelton lay in the shade with his hat over his face, steeped in
roseate dreams, the weariness of a week of long marches and an
afternoon's hard fighting oppressed him. He had been riding nights of
late, and just to lie down was to feel drowsy. He would like to get a nap
before the sun got directly above and left no shade whatever, but he did
not permit himself this luxury, although, like all men with uneasy
consciences, he was a very light sleeper.

He figured that he could hear the trotting of a horse in plenty of time to
prepare for any possible danger, and remained flat on his back in the warm
sun, half-asleep, but yet keenly alert.

Bud Larkin, sighting the coulee and Stelton's horse at a considerable
distance, dismounted and promptly got out of range. Then he continued
stealthily to approach, wondering why Stelton did not put in an appearance
somewhere and start hostilities.

A quarter of a mile from the spot where Stelton's horse stood dejectedly
Larkin left his own animal and proceeded on foot. Nearer and nearer he
approached, and still there was no sign of Stelton.

Bud unslung his glasses, and scanning the rocks near the horse carefully,
at last made out the small outline of a booted foot along the ground. Then
he drew his revolver and crept forward, choosing every step with care.

At a distance of thirty yards his foot unconsciously crunched a bit of
rotten stone. There was a scrambling behind the rock, and a moment late