Dear Cowboy Old-Timer: I am adding a few words to Holly’s letter, which I have read. But she will not get to see what I write you.

“‘Britt wants you to come back to Don Carlos’s Rancho. So do I. So does the outfit. We are going to need you.

“‘Brazos, Holly’s letter might mislead you about affairs of the range out here. As a matter of fact, the rustling business is as good as the cattle business. There’s a new outfit up in the hills, and Britt doesn’t like the prospects one damn little bit.

“‘The old game is kicking back, as we always expected it to. Not so long ago, the biggest herd of longhorns Britt ever saw drifted up the Cimarron—a gaunted bunch that had seen long and hard travel. The outfit worked them across the valley, avoiding the cow camps, taking scarce enough time to fatten up, and they split the herd and drove to the railroad, shipping from Maxwell and Hebron to Kansas City.

“‘Britt thought the drive had a queer look and took pains to get these details. They were all the facts obtainable. But somewhere along this trail to the railroad, the name Surface leaked out. It’s a safe bet, Brazos, that this drive was a steal, as big a one as we ever saw come out of Texas. And naturally we’re passing the buck with a hunch to you. Ride down this man Surface, and write to us, Brazos.

“‘And while you’re doing it, consider coming back to be my foreman of the outfit running the Ripple brand. On shares! Yours truly, Renn Frayne.’”

“Brazos,” the sheriff declared finally, “I’m glad I trusted you. If I hadn’t an’ you’d sprung thet letter on me, I’d shore been ashamed. It’s a wonderful letter! And now, it’s aboot time for yore trial,” he added, consulting his watch.

CHAPTER 3

The sheriff’s office appeared rather cramped with the dozen or more occupants standing and sitting around. Outside, a considerable crowd had collected. With few exceptions, notably Surface and some close associates at his elbow, the assembly was composed of dusty-booted, roughly-clad cattlemen.

“Set there, Keene,” said Kiskadden, indicating one of two chairs back of his desk. Brazos saw his gun and belt, his watch and penknife, lying on some papers. The desk drawer was half open, showing the dark butts of several Colts.

“Let everybody in, if there’s room,”, called the sheriff to the guard at the door. Presently Kiskadden pounded on his desk to stop the talking. “Fellow citizens,” he said, “my mind aboot this case is made up. But I’ll hold a hearin’ so thet you all can get the facts.”

Surface took a step out from the group of ranchmen evidently accompanying him. His mien was arrogant, suggestive of power. His bland face appeared to Brazos to be a mask.

“Sheriff, I move we try this man before twelve jurors. I will serve along with the members of the Cattlemen’s Association. We can pick the others from the businessmen here.”

“What’s the idee of thet?” demanded Kiskadden.

“Your declaration that you had already come to a decision proves the consensus of opinion correct.”

“An’ what’s thet opinion?” queried the sheriff sarcastically.

“You wouldn’t hang a Texas cowboy. This murderer would already have swung but for Inskip, who’s another of your Texas breed.”

“Wal, Surface, thet Texas breed opened up this cattle empire. An’ you seldom heah of one of them gettin’ hanged.