not been long in Mr. Merkel's
service--took out his knife and began whittling away at the wooden
handle, Bud uttered a sharp cry of:

"Stop!"

"What's the matter?" asked Pocut Pete, with an assumption of innocence,
which was so plainly an assumption that Nort and Dick exchanged rapid
glances.

"Don't cut off those initials!" went on Bud. "Maybe by them we can
tell who owns the iron."

"Initials!" exclaimed Pocut Pete. "I don't see any initials!"

"There they are," and Bud pointed to some, rather faintly cut, on a
flat place in the handle. "E. C. are the letters, though I don't know
anybody with them at Double Z."

"I don't, either," said Pocut Pete. "In fact, I didn't see them
letters, Bud. I was just whittling the handle to see what kind of wood
it was. Thought maybe I could tell by that."

"All right," spoke Bud, as he again assumed charge of the branding
iron. And Pocut Pete, with a sharp look at the young rancher, went out
to the corral where the spare ponies were kept.

"Was he really trying to cut out those initials?" asked Nort, as the
three boy ranchers passed on to the grub tent, for it was the joyful
time to eat--one of the three joyful times that came each day.

"I wouldn't say he was doing it _deliberately_," spoke Bud, "but he
certainly _was_ whittling near those letters. And if he had cut them
off the owner of the branding iron could easily claim it wasn't his."

"That was queer," declared Dick.

"Very," assented Bud. "In fact Pocut Pete has acted queer ever since
he's been here. I don't like him, and as soon as dad has another
puncher to spare I'm going to ask for a change."

The remainder of that day and the night passed quietly. There was no
other alarm, and riding herd was an easy task. Nor was there any
stoppage of the water, which ran freely out through the pipe from the
underground tunnel as though there had never been any interruption of
its very necessary service.

"Well, let's go!" exclaimed Bud next day, as he and his cousins saddled
their ponies, and Old Billee called for Yellin' Kid to help catch a
rather frisky pinto that the old cowboy was going to ride.

"Over to Double Z?" asked Nort.

"Yes, we'll take a sort of a look around their place, and hand back
this iron," went on Bud, as he slung the implement to his saddle by a
loop of his lariat.

The ride to Double Z was pleasant enough, for soon the boys and Old
Billee struck the hill trail, where it was coole