oment later and steaks were
being pan-fried as the men dismounted and lounged on the porch, awaiting
their meal. The leader introduced himself by the name of Bill Brandon,
claiming previous knowledge, without actual acquaintance, of Sandy,
Mormon and Sam in Texas. Sizing each other up, man-fashion, eye to eye,
appraising a score of tiny things that aggregated sufficiently to tip
the mental scale, the crowd grew more familiar and welded with supper,
exchanged anecdotes with digestion, to get confidential over the
tobacco.

"We're out after a man who's been collectin' hawsses too primiscuous,"
said Brandon finally. "We know you gents by past reputation an' by what
they say of you in Herefo'd. Also, by that last reckonin', I ain't
figgerin' you as any speshul pal of the man we're tryin' to round up. I
reckon you know who we mean. Jim Plimsoll, who owns what he calls the
Waterline Hawss Ranch, sixteen miles east of you, more or less; an' who
gits more fancy breeds out of the mangy cayuses he shows his breedin'
mares an' stallions, than there is different fish in the sea. From all I
can figger most of his mares must have fo' foals a year.

"Some of us are from this state--Mojave County--two of us from Nevada.
Me, I'm from California. We've all been losin' hawsses off an' on an'
we've final' got together an' compared notes. Seems most of the missin'
stock sorter drifted across the Arizony line somewheres between Mojave
City an' Topock. Most of 'em have been sold or passed on. All of 'em
have been faked an' doctored more or less. Talk points to Plimsoll, so
do some facts, but not enough. An' this Plimsoll has got some mighty
close friends where they do the most good. You'd have to prove a damn
sight more than we got to even sight a blank warrant."

"You been over to his ranch?" asked Sandy.

"Jest come from there. He's slick an' cool, is Plimsoll. We was supposed
to be lookin' over hawsses for buyin', but he's careful who he sells to.
We saw some. An' we recognized some. But you know how it is, Bourke, it
ain't hard to change a hawss. Dock its foretop, do a little doctorin',
an' how you goin' to prove it? I'll say this for the man, he's the
finest brand-faker I've met up with. He suspicioned what we was after
an' we didn't see all he had. But we're goin' to git him yet an', when
we do, there won't be any more hawss-stealin' an' fakin' in Coconino
County, Arizona. Hawss-stealin' was a hangin' matter when I first come
west a