"Not much," admitted Carson; "but, still, it's better cloudy than boilin' under th' sun." "I reckon Mac ain't thinkin' as much about it bein' cloudy as I am," smiled the foreman, turning to take the horse Fraser was leading to him. He had asked Fraser to get and saddle his horse in the hope that the puncher would stand on his dignity and, perhaps, provoke a quarrel, out of which anything might come; but Fraser paid no attention to the request, unusual as it was, and grinned as he stepped back. "It's fifty miles to Sherman, an' I'd ruther have it cloudy, all th' way," smiled Big Tom, mounting. "Well, so-long, boys!" and he was off. He chose the trail over Pine Mountain, not so much for its saving in miles, but because it gave him a high, distant point from which to look back over his trail, and it avoided the Doc's shack and Gunsight as well. Reaching the top of the mountain, he turned and closely scrutinized the trail, finding nothing to bother him; but he was bothered, nevertheless, and he determined to pay as much attention to the trail he covered as to that which lay before him. Setting out again, he went well to the west of Gunsight and struck the Sherman trail ten miles beyond the town. * * * * * Back on the Bar H, Fraser was thinking. He had been doing a lot of it the last week, and he had not been alone in it. When his foreman had ridden off he leaned against the door and watched him until he was lost to sight. Dahlgren and Carney passed out, joked with him and went to the corral, soon riding off to the south. Dick Carson passed out a little later, paused, retraced his steps and leaned against the other door jamb. "Wonder if yo're thinkin' th' same as me?" he quietly asked. Fraser looked at him closely. "I don't know; _I_'m thinkin' of a gamble," he replied, hooking a thumb in an armhole of his vest. "Shore; so am I," nodded Carson, carelessly. "This here range is shot full of holes, for us." "It is," admitted Fraser. "We been driftin' them mavericks for three years--an' now they're goin' to be throwed back, branded, an' th' rest cut four ways. How are we goin' to stop it?" "I'm figgerin' on driftin' myself; but I hate to drift alone, an' empty-handed," growled Carson. "I come down here to work for Huff, for fifty a month, an' pickin's. I've been gettin' th' fifty--but there won't be no pickin's, less'n I run some off with me. I'm tired of this blasted country, anyhow. Why, I'd ruther take chances, like Nevada, than go on this way down here. H--l!" he snorted in angry disgust. "I'm sayin' I fair itches to gamble," he added. Fraser shifted to a more comfortable position. "What do you think th' boss has got in his pockets right now?" he asked, cynically. "A big, fat check, that won't do him nor us any good," replied Carson.