“Tomorrow then,” Dick went on, returning to their former topic of conversation, “we’ll begin a round-up of the stock at this end of the range. I’ll put the boys on the job right now.” “I’ll join you tomorrow myself.” “All right, Mr. Thurston.” “What time?” “At any time agreeable to you.” “Well, say eight o’clock in the morning. You see,” he continued, “I want to get through with this damned business in a hurry and start back East. I have friends who are waiting for me. Of course I will have to stay here until the representatives of this syndicate come up from Los Angeles, but I will make short work of them, believe me.” This time Ben Thurston laughed outright and rubbed his hands together in a satisfied way. For once he seemed inclined to be communicative, and, turning to Willoughby, resumed: “Do you know, I have collected over three hundred thousand dollars, first and last, selling options on this San Antonio Rancho? It is quite a joke. They all fall down. They make a first payment of twenty-five or fifty thousand dollars, and then,” throwing up both his hands and shrugging his shoulders, “their payments cease and I am just that much ahead of the game.” Willoughby listened in frigid silence; there was not even the flicker of a responsive smile on his face. Thurston, eyeing him for a moment, looked disconcerted. He drew himself up stiffly in his chair. His voice assumed its usual gruff tone. “That’s all; get to work then,” he said curtly as he lifted some papers to show that the interview was at an end. The first round-up was held some twenty miles southwest of the ranch house, at the base of the foothills across the valley from La Siesta. Ben Thurston, attended closely by his bodyguard, was there, his shifting eyes scanning each new face. Not fewer than ten thousand head of cattle were milling about, pawing the earth and bellowing in low tones of irritation at being herded together and held away from their accustomed haunts of juicy grasses. From a knoll at a little distance Lieutenant Munson, seated on a fine riding pony, watched the great performance, which to him was more wonderful than any hippodrome show or military parade. He was so engrossed with the spectacle that he did not hear the patter of approaching hoofs. “Good morning, Senor Lieutenant,” came a lady’s voice in cheery greeting. Turning quickly in his saddle he saw Grace Darlington and Merle Farnsworth on their ponies, which had been brought to a sudden halt close behind him. “Really, Mr. Munson,” said Grace Darlington, “one would think you were so completely lost in contemplation of a mob of cattle that you had no eyes for your friends.” Chester bowed and raised his hat as he replied with a bright smile: “It is certainly a great scene, isn’t it? But you are none the less welcome. Indeed when one is witnessing something unusual, it always adds to the interest to have the companionship of friends.”