"Now, we'll say that th' outfit is crooked, an' workin' for its own pockets. They wouldn't want to brand any mavericks, not with th' ranch mark. There's two ways of dividin' that conclusion. First: That they're doin' it for their own pockets, th' foreman not knowin' about it. But no foreman is so dumb that he'd overlook so many mavericks--he'd raise h--l, an' weed out his punchers an' get new men. There wouldn't be many cows unbranded if he was workin' for his ranch. Th' second is: Foreman an' outfit are workin' for themselves, dividin' up th' profits accordin' to some plan. Then nobody would care how many mavericks there was, for th' more th' merrier. They'd have a right smart herd to brand with th' mark of some friend's ranch, road brand, an' throw on th' trail for some shippin' point up north, near th' railroad. Or mebby they figger on stockin' a ranch of their own that they has in some other part of th' country. Rustlers plumb love mavericks--an' if I was one, an' wanted to get rich, I know where _I_'d start out. An' if it wasn't for th' Double X layin' between this ranch an' th' Snake Buttes country, them rustlers over there would give this outfit sleepless nights. Them Double X punchers bein' on th' job all th' time is all that saves these here mavericks from swappin' ranges. Th' Double X is workin' for this passel of thieves, an' don't know it. "Now, then: These mavericks out here are mostly all three years old, or younger. There's some four-year-olds, an' others, of course. An' th' SV ain't had a calf round-up in three years. Ain't that remarkable? Th' Bar H owners get good reports every round-up. Th' new calves keep right up to th' factor of natural increase, an' there ain't nothin' to make anybody jump out here for a good look at things. An' when th' drive figgers go on, an' show five hundred cattle on th' beef trail, an' really there is a thousand, th' books balance just right; an' Big Tom gets a Christmas present from th' owners for bein' such a good, honest foreman. Where that extra five hundred head goes to nobody knows but th' outfit. I've heard that Wolf is th' _segundo_ down here, an' is trail boss on every drive. Do you wonder he's jealous of his mavericks out here, an' watchin' day an night for some of them Snake Buttes rustlers to bust through th' Double X riders an' pay this section a visit? Him bein' so alert was another reason why I packed him off to Highbank for a day or two, where he can have excitement, an' there's things to do an' see. An' while he's enjoyin' th' hilarity of town, we'll have a good look around. _Pull up_, Pepper, there's hoss tracks--fresh, too. They was made while th' mornin's dew was heavy, which is told by th' little chunks of dirt his hoofs picked up an' turned over. You stay right here while I go ahead. _Lay down!_" He slapped the horse and gave a low, peculiar whistle. Pepper laid her ears back, but slowly obeyed the signal and went down, "playing dead" on her side.