They made little noise, drifting down the level floor of the glade in a close-packed bunch. At its mouth they headed south along the shore of the river and followed along the stream for a matter of several miles. Where the western end of Mystery turned, Nameless curved and went down along the ridge’s foot in a wide and placid flow. It was here that the drivers forced the cattle to the water and kept them in it, riding in a string along the edge. This was particular work and took finesse and dispatch. The bewildered stock tried at first to come out, but everywhere along the shore were met with the crack of the long whips, the resistance of the string of horsemen, so that presently, following the several dominant steers which traveled in the lead, the whole herd splashed and floundered along the sandy bottom of the river, knee deep in water. This was the trick which had baffled cattleland, and it was both easy and clever, comparatively. And so Bossick’s seventy-one head of steers were disappearing and there was none to see. That is, at this stage of the proceedings. There _was_ one to see—one who had spent many weary weeks of night riding, of patient watching which had seemed likely to be unrewarded—Sheriff Price Selwood sitting high on the slope above Kate Cathrew’s trail, as he had so often, doggedly following his “hunch” and the prospector John Smith’s discovery. Since that ride up Blue Stone Cañon he had taken turns with Smith in picketing Cattle Kate’s outfit, but nothing untoward had taken place. Now he sat in tedious silence, listening to the night sounds, unaware that any one was out from Sky Line, since Caldwell and his companions had dropped diagonally down the slope in their going, passing far above him. For an hour he sat, slouching sidewise in his saddle, his hat pulled over his eyes. The bay horse stood in hip-dropped rest, drowsing comfortably. It was well after midnight, judging by the stars in the dark sky, when Selwood suddenly held the breath he was drawing into his lungs. He had heard a cattle-brute bawl. For a moment he was still as death. Then he straightened up, every nerve taut. He heard the sounds of cattle, the crack of whips, the unmistakable commotion of moving bodies. As it all came nearer below him he caught the swish and splash of water, and knew he was at last witnessing a raid of rustlers, one of the mysterious “disappearances” which had puzzled all the Deep Heart country for so long. He wished fervently that Smith were with him—that Bossick and Jermyn and all the rest were there. His heart was beating hard and to save his life he could not help the excitement which took hold upon him. And presently he heard, directly beneath him where Kate Cathrew’s trail crossed Nameless, the trample and crack of a myriad hoofs taking to the rocky slope. The riders were turning the steers up toward Sky Line Ranch! But what could they do with them there? Where could they hide them?