boys with you and fan it for the road. You can cache in that draw
just north of the water-hole. About sunup the herd'll break for water.
Loring's outfit will be plenty busy on this side, about then. If he's
got any gunmen handy, they'll be camped at the ranch. Chances are that
when the cattle stampede a band or two of sheep, he'll turn his men on
us. That's your time to ride down and take possession of the ranch.
Most likely you won't have to draw a gun."

Shoop reined close to Corliss and held out his hand. "Mebby not, Jack.
But if we do--so-long."

Then the genial Bud loped to the outriders, picking them up one by one.
The cattle, freed from the vigilance of the circling horsemen, sniffed
the dawn, crowded to a wedge, and began to trot, then to run. Shoop
and his four companions spurred ahead, swung to the road, and thundered
past the ranch-house as a faint edge of light shot over the eastern
horizon. They entered the mouth of the draw, swung around, and reined
up.

"We're goin' to chip in when Jack opens the pot," said Shoop. "Just
how strong we'll come in depends on how strong Jack opens her." Then
with seeming irrelevance he remarked casually: "Sinker wasn't such a
bad ole scout."

"Which Loring's goin' to find out right soon," said "Mebby-So," a lean
Texan.

"Sinker's sure goin' to have company, I take it," remarked "Bull"
Cassidy.

"Boss's orders is to take her without makin' any noise," said Shoop.

"Huh! _I'm_ plumb disappointed," asserted Mebby-So. "I was figurin'
on singin' hymns and accompanyin' meself on me--me cayuse. Listen!
Somethin' 's broke loose!"

Thundering like an avalanche the herd swept down on the water-hole,
ploughing through a band of sheep that were bedded down between them
and the ranch. The herder's tent was torn to ribbons. Wingle,
trailing behind the herd, dismounted, and, stooping, disarmed the
bruised and battered Mexican who had struggled to his feet as he rode
up.

From the water-hole came shouts, and Corliss saw several men come
running from the house to seize their horses and ride out toward the
cattle. The band of riders opened up and the distant popping of
Winchesters told him that the herders were endeavoring to check the
rush of the thirst-maddened steers. The carcasses of sheep, trampled
to pulp, lay scattered over the mesa.

"It sure is hell!" remarked Wingle, riding up to Corliss.

"Hell is correct," said Corliss, spurring forward. "Now I rec