e." A sheepman was
struck by lightning, according to the coroner, and his widow had been
glad to sell ranch and sheep very cheaply to the Sawtooth and return to
her relatives in Montana. The Sawtooth had shipped the sheep within a
month and turned the ranch into another line-camp.

You will see that Senator Warfield had every reason to be sincere when
he called Al Woodruff a good man; good for the Sawtooth interests, that
means. You will also see that Brit Hunter had reasons for believing
that the business of ranching in the Sawtooth country might be classed
as extra hazardous, and for saying that it took nerve just to hang on.

That is why Al rode oblivious to his surroundings, meditating no doubt
upon the best means of preserving the integrity of the Sawtooth and at
the same time soothing effectively the ticklishness of the situation of
which he had complained. It was his business to find the best means.
It was for just such work that the Sawtooth paid him--secretly, to be
sure--better wages than the foreman, Hawkins, received. Al was
conscientious and did his best to earn his wages; not because he
particularly loved killing and spying as a sport, but because the
Sawtooth had bought his loyalty for a price, and so long as he felt
that he was getting a square deal from them, he would turn his hand
against any man that stood in their way. He was a Sawtooth man, and he
fought the enemies of the Sawtooth as matter-of-factly as a soldier
will fight for his country. To his unimaginative mind there was
sufficient justification in that attitude. As for the ease with which
he planned to kill and cover his killing under the semblance of
accident, he would have said, if you could make him speak of it, that
he was not squeamish. They'd all have to die some day, anyway.

CHAPTER X

ANOTHER SAWTOOTH "ACCIDENT"

Frank Johnson rose from the breakfast table, shaved a splinter off the
edge of the water bench for a toothpick and sharpened it carefully
while he looked at Brit.

"You goin' after them posts, or shall I?" he inquired glumly, which, by
the way, was his normal tone. "Jim and Sorry oughta git the post holes
all dug to-day. One erf us better take a look through that young stock
in the lower field, too, and see if there's any more sign uh blackleg.
Which you ruther do?"

Brit tilted his chair backward so that he could reach the coffeepot on
the stove hearth. "I'll haul down the posts," he decided carele