ly to be leaders--broke from the bunches
to which they had been assigned and started at a clumsy run, followed by
kindred susceptible to example. Cow-punchers, waiting for just such
manifestations of individuality, whirled after them like comets, and soon
they were again in the pawing, heaving, sweltering bunch to which they
belonged.

Peter Hamilton, whose particular skill as a cow-puncher lay in that branch
of the profession known as "cutting out," found that the work of the
rustlers had been carried on with no unsparing hand since the early spring
round-up. Calves bearing the "H L" brand--that claimed by a company known
to be made up of cattle-thieves--followed mothers bearing almost every
brand that grazed herds in that part of the State. The Wetmore outfit,
that used a "W" enclosed in a square, were apparently the heaviest losers.
The cows and calves were herded at the right of the plain, convenient to
the branding-pen, the steers well away to the opposite side. As Peter
drove a "W-square" cow, followed by a little, white-faced calf, whose
brand had plainly been tampered with, he heard one of his associates say:

"There's nothing small about the 'H L' except their methods."

"What's 'H L' stand for, anyway?" the other cow-puncher asked.

"Why, Hell, or, How Long; depends whether you're with 'em or again 'em."

Peter wheeled from the men and headed for the bunch he was cutting out. He
fancied that the man had looked at him strangely as he offered a choice of
meanings for the "H L"--and yet he could not have known that Peter had gone
to Rodney's cabin last night. He flung himself heart and soul into his
work, dashing full tilt at the snorting, stamping bedlam, enveloped in
clouds of dust that dimmed the very daylight. Calves bleated piteously as
they were jammed in the thickening pack. Peter shouted, swung the rope
right and left, thinning the bunch about him, and a second later emerged,
driving before him a cow, followed by a calf. These were turned over to
cow-boys waiting for them. Time after time Hamilton returned to that mass
of unconscious power, that with a single rush could have annihilated the
little band of horsemen that handled them with the skill of a dealer
shuffling, cutting, dealing a pack of cards.

To the left were the steers, pawing and tearing up the earth in a very
ecstasy of impotent fury. Picture the giant propeller of an ocean liner
thrashing about in the sands of the desert and you will ha