Leaving Cimarron to go to the bunkhouse for the off shift, Slim and Matt rode rapidly toward the scene of the fight, and when they reached it they saw a figure on the ground. Dismounting they bent over it, and then looked at each other. "Dahlgren!" breathed Slim. Matt nodded. "They wasn't waitin' for their mavericks to be split four ways," he said, covering the upturned face with the dead man's sombrero. "They was stealin' a march on Big Tom while he is up in Sherman. Well, anyhow, he was on th' rustle--an' there ain't no harm done. Go on in, an' get yore sleep. As to th' herd, I reckon Arnold has got th' best title to it--but that's for Lin to say. If he does throw 'em over to th' SV it'll save Big Tom th' shame of doin' it hisself. Good night." CHAPTER XXV STILL A-ROLLIN' Arnold finished his breakfast and, telling Margaret that he was going to Gunsight to see Johnny and Dave, the hiring of another puncher being uppermost in his mind, went to the corral and soon was riding along the trail, gratified by the entire absence of pain in his leg and with the stimulation which came from the easy motion, the sun, and the crisp morning air. When Margaret turned back into the house her brother had slipped out of the front door and had gone, eager to shirk his few duties and play scout. Since he had found an old, broken rifle in the deserted and disused bunkhouse it formed the foundation upon which he based his play. As she called to him, vexation in her voice, he was wriggling through a clump of brush not far away, this part of his scouting being earnest and real. Wiping dishes was woman's work, as he firmly believed, and he detested and scorned it. His pony had been saddled and picketed in a draw south of the house before breakfast, and when the opportunity offered he intended to get to it and ride off over the ranch until hunger forced him to return. Lying quietly in his cover he kept a keen watch until, the beds made, his sister should begin the kitchen work and give him a chance to cross the open space between him and the pony. He was growing more and more impatient when he caught sight of a horseman riding down the slope of a hill north of the house, and his anger and curiosity flared up when he saw that it was Big Tom. The Bar H foreman rode leisurely past the corral, noting the absence of Arnold's horse and the pony, and stopped before the door. Swinging from the saddle he sauntered up to the kitchen door and knocked. Margaret wondered who it could be, a sudden thought of injury to her father coming to her, and she hastened to answer it. When she saw who the visitor was she stopped and recoiled a little. "How-do-you-do?" she said coldly. "Glad to see you. Ma'am," came the answer. "I rode over to see yore father about some mavericks of his that are eatin' up my grass." "You have just missed him," replied Margaret. "If you return by the way of Gunsight you can see him there."