"Huh!" snorted Two-Spot, "you might be aimin' for some widder, at that; but I'm sayin' that if she sees you first, you'll need more'n eight men an' a waggin to take her away from her home an' fambly. What are you aimin' to rustle?" "Every cow on a certain ranch between here an' Juniper," whispered Cimarron, looking stealthily around. "Then don't you waste no time hangin' around here," warned Two-Spot, also looking stealthily around. "Big Tom's gettin' up early these mornin's, I bets." Cimarron gravely shook his head, whereat Two-Spot remarked carelessly, apropos of nothing, "Smitty has left th' range for good. He had two holes in his hat, th' upper hole like a coffeepot with th' lid back. He rode his own hoss, an' was goin' strong when he passed here. But nobody was chasin' him, then." "Hey, fellers!" shouted the _segundo_, joyously, "Smitty has follered Squint, with a couple of gun-shot wounds in his Mex. hat!" Laughter and cheerful remarks greeted the news, and Dave had to verify it. "Bar H: mark _two_!" cried Norris. "Bring 'em up, you ropers--th' irons are hot!" Two-Soot, despairing of gaining any real information in Dave's, shuffled out and went to Dailey's where Art French was putting the last of the provisions on the wagon. "Hello French!" greeted Two-Spot, putting a foot on the spokes of a wheel. "Where are you fellers headin' for?" "Up th' Juniper trail," answered Art. "Want to come along? Have you got th' nerve to take a chance with somebody else's cattle?" Two-Spot looked at him intently. "What are you aimin' to do with 'em?" he asked. "What do folks usually do with cows that don't belong to 'em?" countered Art. "Holy mavericks!" muttered Two-Spot. "These here ijuts ain't carin' a whole lot who knows about it! What you got th' waggin for? Aimin' to squat out there an' steal 'em as fast as they grows up?" "That's for th' hides of them that gets killed. We're goin' to round up every hoof, clean and prompt." "You didn't stop at th' Doc's on yore way up, did you?" asked Two-Spot, paying no attention to the noise made by several men who had mounted and were riding toward the wagon at a walk. "Why?" "Oh, nothin', only I reckon'd mebby you'd got some of them little white pills he shoots into hisself." "Can you keep a tally?" asked Art, carelessly. "I can; but I won't." Art waved a hand at him. "He can tally; but he won't." Three ropes dropped over the surprised ex-tally man and were drawn not unpleasantly tight. He thought it might be a joke, so he grinned; it would not do to let anyone think he took it seriously, because it might cause them to take it that way. "Takes three men on hosses to rope me," he jeered, chuckling. "Better get th' rest of th' gang before I gets rough an' boisterous." "Can you set a horse?" asked Slim. "I shore can't," regretted Two-Spot. "It's one of th' sorrers of my life." "Then we'll have to tie him on," said Wood. "Chuck us out a couple of hobbles, Art."