“Oh, well, never mind! I didn’t mean anything,” laughed Brown, good-naturedly. “But it does beat the band, Jim, now doesn’t it, how you people scare at petticoats. They ain’t pizen—honest.” Jim looked on idly. Occasionally, he condescended to head a rebellious steer shute-wards. Out beyond, it was still and sweet and peaceful, and the late afternoon had put on that thin veil of coolness which is a God-given refreshment after the heat of the day. But here in the pen all was confusion. The raucous cattle-calls of the cowboys smote the evening air startlingly. “Here, Bill Brown!” he exclaimed suddenly, “where did you run across that critter?” He slapped the shoulder of a big, raw-boned, long-eared steer as he spoke. The animal was on the point of being driven up the shute. “What you want to know for?” asked Brown in surprise. “Reason ’nough. That critter belongs to us, that’s why; and I want to know where you got him, that’s what I want to know.” “You’re crazy, Jim! Why, I bought that fellow from Jesse Black t’ other day. I’ve got a bill-of-sale for him. I’m shippin’ a couple of cars to Sioux City and bought him to send along. That’s on the square.” “I don’t doubt it—s’ far as you’re concerned, Bill Brown,” said Jim, “but that’s our critter jest the same, and I’ll jest tote ’im along ’f you’ve no objections.” “Well, I guess not!” said Brown, laconically. “Look here, Bill Brown,” Jim was getting hot-headedly angry, “didn’t you know Jesse Black stands trial to-morrow for rustlin’ that there very critter from the Three Bars ranch?” “No, I didn’t,” Brown answered, shortly. “Any case?” “I guess yes! Williston o’ the Lazy S saw this very critter on that island where Jesse Black holds out.” He proceeded to relate minutely the story to which Williston was going to swear on the morrow. “But,” he concluded, “Jesse’s goin’ to fight like hell against bein’ bound over.” “Well, well,” said Brown, perplexedly. “But the brand, Jim, it’s not yours or Jesse’s either.” “’Quainted with any J R ranch in these parts?” queried Jim, shrewdly. “I ain’t.” “Well, neither am I,” confessed Brown, “but that’s not sayin’ there ain’t one somewhere. Maybe we can trace it back.” “Shucks!” exploded Jim. “Maybe you’re right, Jim, but I don’t propose to lose the price o’ that animal less’n I have to. You can’t blame me for that. I paid good money for it. If it’s your’n, why, of course, it’s your’n. But I want to be sure first. Sure you’d know him, Jim? How could you be so blamed sure? Your boss must range five thousand head.”