why I wasn't in no hurry to push them too far tonight,"
declared Carter. "I don't want to get anywhere near Devil's Hole in
the darkness, an' I want that place quite some miles away when I camp.
I seen a herd stride that quicksand on a run once, an' they wasn't
enough of them left to make a good stew.

"If my judgment ain't wrong, an' we can keep them steppin' pretty
lively in the mornin', we'll get to Devil's Hole just about noon
tomorrow. Then we can ease them through, an' the rest ain't worth
talkin' about."

"Devil's Hole is the only trail?" inquired Sanderson.

Carter nodded. The others confirmed the nod. But Carter's desire for
an early start the next morning was denied. Bud and Sogun were on
guard duty on the morning shift, with the other men at breakfast, when
a dozen horsemen appeared from the morning haze westward and headed
directly for the camp fire.

"Visitors," announced Soapy, who was first to see the riders.

The Double A men got to their feet to receive the strangers. Sanderson
stepped out from the group slightly, and the horsemen came to a halt
near him. A big man, plainly the leader of the strangers, dismounted
and approached Sanderson.

The man radiated authority. There was a belligerent gleam in his eyes
as he looked Sanderson over, an inspection that caused Sanderson's face
to redden, so insolent was it. Behind him the big man's companions
watched, their faces expressionless, their eyes alert.

"Who's runnin' this outfit?" demanded the man.

"You're talkin' at the boss," said Sanderson.

"I'm the sheriff of Colfax County," said the other, shortly. "There's
been a complaint made about you. Bill Lester, of the Bar X, says
you've been pickin' up his cattle, crossin' his range, yesterday."

This incident had happened before, both to Sanderson and to Carter.
They had insisted on the right of inspection themselves, when strange
herds had been driven through their ranges.

"We want to look your stock over," said the sheriff.

The request was reasonable, and Sanderson smiled.

"That's goin' to hold us up a spell," he returned; "an' we was figurin'
on makin' Devil's Hole before dark. Hop in an' do your inspectin'."

The big man motioned to his followers and the latter spurred to the
herd, the other being the last to leave the camp fire.

For two hours the strangers threaded and weaved their horses through
the mass of cattle, while Sanderson and his men, impatient to begin the