"Oh, it's true all right," sneered the bully. "Then I demand to know who told you!" Dave's hand shot out and grasped the bridle of the other's horse, and Len's plan of flight was frustrated. "Let me go!" he whiningly demanded. "Not until you tell me who said I am a nobody--that Mr. Carson is not my father," Dave said, firmly. "I--I----" began the shrinking Len, when the sound of another horseman approaching caused both lads to turn slightly in their saddles. Dave half expected to see Pocus Pete, but he beheld the not very edifying countenance of Whitey Wasson, a tow-headed cowpuncher belonging to the Centre O outfit. Whitey and Len were reported to be cronies, and companions in more than one not altogether pleasant incident. "Oh, here you are; eh; Len?" began Whitey. "And I see you've got the strays." "Yes, I've got 'em," said Len, shortly. "Any trouble?" went on Whitey, with a quick glance at Dave. The position of the two lads--Dave with his hand grasping Len's bridle--was too significant to be overlooked. "Trouble?" began Len. "Well, he--he--" "He made a certain statement concerning me," Dave said, quietly, looking from Len to Whitey, "and I asked him the source of his information. That is all." "What did he say?" "He said I was a nameless, picked-up nobody, and that Mr. Carson was not my father. I asked him how he knew, and he said some one told him that." "So he did!" exclaimed Len. "Then I demand to know who it was!" cried Dave. For a moment there was silence, and then Whitey Wasson, with a chuckle said: "I told Len myself!" "You did?" cried Dave. "Yes, he did! Now maybe you won't be so smart!" sneered Len. "Let go my horse!" he cried, roughly, as he swung the animal to one side. But no force was needed; as Dave's nerveless hand fell away from the bridle. He seemed shocked--stunned again. "You--you--how do you know?" he demanded fiercely, raising his sinking head, and looking straight at Whitey. "Oh, I know well enough. Lots of the cowboys do. It isn't so much of a secret as you think. If you don't believe me ask your father--no, he ain't your father--but ask the Old Man himself. Just ask him what your name is, and where you came from, and see what he says." Whitey was sneering now, and he chuckled as he looked at Len. Dave's face paled beneath his tan, and he did not answer. A nameless, picked-up nobody! How the words stung! And he had considered himself, proudly considered himself, the son of one of the best-liked, best-known and most upright cattle raisers of the Rolling River country. Now who was he? "Come on, Len," said Whitey. "If you've got the strays we'll drive them back. Been out long enough as 'tis." He wheeled his horse, Len doing the same, and they started after the straying cattle. "Hold on there, if you please," came in a drawling voice. "Jest cut out them Bar U steers before you mosey off any farther, Whitey," and riding around a little hillock came Pocus Pete. "Um!" grunted Whitey.