As the herd came along it made a fine sight for a cowman to look upon, the cattle strung out for three-quarters of a mile in length and spread well out on both sides of the trail, well watered and fed, and making under these conditions four miles an hour. The chuck wagon, drawn by four mules, rolled far ahead of it, the caviya of a hundred and thirty saddle horses to one side and also ahead. Each of the two point men was followed by four swing men, five to a side, and they had nothing to do now but look out for stragglers and to keep local cattle from joining the invading host. The bed ground was well chosen and the night promised to be a good one, notwithstanding that clouds were forming and the moon would be more or less obscured. After the Double X contingent had joined their trail mates for the long journey and the great herd had bedded down, half of the trail outfit, together with the punchers from the ranches, headed for town, McCullough electing to remain with the herd. Big Tom and Lewis shook hands with him and returned to their ranchhouses, riding together part of the way. Just before they separated Lewis looked up. "I heard that Arnold was ridin' today--one of th' Double X boys met him at th' trail. I reckon it must feel good to be in th' saddle again after such a long siege in bed." "I'm bettin' it does," smiled Big Tom. "I had a dose of it when I was a young man, an' once is shore a-plenty." "He must think so, for he's aimin' to ride to town every day, an' spend some of his time gettin' acquainted with Dave an' his friends. Well, I'm leavin' you here. Good night." "Good night," replied Big Tom, riding on with a sinister smile on his face. The following morning was cloudy, which suited the Bar H foreman, who had a long ride ahead of him. He opened the south door of the ranchhouse, looked out and caught sight of a movement near the right-hand corner. A full-grown rattler was crawling slowly across a sand patch, and the foreman watched it idly. Then he grinned. "Wonder how good my gunplay is these days?" he muttered, and his Colt leaped from its holster and roared. The snake writhed swiftly into an agonized coil, its flat head moving back and forth, its tongue darting angrily, and its rattles buzzing steadily. Huff growled at himself and fired again. The flattened, venomous head sank down, twisting and turning on the writhing coils.