boys changed the subject hurriedly.

"I found a dead brandin' fire in th' Cup Rim yesterday, Burt," said
Masters, "quite a scrabbled space around it. Looked like some one'd
branded several calves."

"Don't doubt it," said the foreman. "Careful as we are there's always
likely to be stragglers. An' to be a straggler's to be a goner in
this man's land."

"Unless he belongs t' Last's," said the irrepressible Billy. "I'll lay
that fer every calf branded by Courtrey's gang we'll get back two."

"Billy," said Tharon again, "Jim Last wasn't a thief. Neither will his
people be thieves. For every calf branded by Courtrey, _one calf_
wearin' th' J. L.--an' one calf only. We don't steal, but we won't
lose."

"You bet your boots an' spurs throwed in, we won't," said the boy
fervently.

As they rose from the table with all the racket of out-door men there
came once more the sound of a horse's hoofs on the hard earth
outside.

Last's Holding was a vast sounding-board. No one on horseback could
come near without advertising his arrival far ahead.

This time it was no stranger. Tharon went to the western door to bid
him 'light.

It was John Dement from down at the Rolling Cove. He was a thin, worn
man, who looked ten years beyond his forty, his face wrinkled by the
constant fret and worry of the constant loser.

Tonight he was strung up like a wire. His voice shook when he returned
the hearty greetings that met him.

"Boys," he said abruptly, "an' Tharon--I come t' tell ye all
good-bye."

"Good-bye! John, what you mean?"

Tharon went forward and put a hand on his arm. Her blue eyes searched
his face.

The man stood by his horse and struck a tragic fist in a hard palm.

"That's it. I give up. I'm done. I'm goin' down the wall come day--me
an' my woman an' th' two boys. Got our duffle ready packed, an' Lord
knows, it ain't enough t' heft th' horses. After five year!"

There was the sound of the hopeless tears of masculine failure in the
man's tragic voice. His fingers twisted his flabby hat.

"Hold up," said Conford, pushing nearer, "straighten out a bit,
Dement. Now, tell us what's up."

"Th' last head--th' last hoof--run off last night as we was comin' in
with 'em a leetle mite late. Had ben up Black Coulee way, an' it got
dark on us. Just as we got abreast o' th' mouth of th' Coulee, where
th' poplars grow, three men come a-boilin' out. They was on fast
horses--o' course--an' right into th' bunch they went, hel