The horseman drew up his mount squatting, throwing up a hand—old Sanchez, all his life a Del Sol rider, and the only Mexican allowed to go with the trail herd. “_Pronto, Señor Jeem!_” he called. “_Los hombres—baja_!” He pointed to the herd. “What hombres, Sanchez? What’s up?” “_Los hombres_—they cutta our herd!” “Cut our herd—what’s that?” “Read-a our brand—cutta our herd. They say-a we gotta their _vacas_. They goin’ take!” “Cut our herd? On our own ground. Not none! The man don’t live that’s going to cut a Del Sol herd without my consent and my help. Come on!” He set spurs, rode through the thin fringe of mesquite that made the shortest path. “Come on, McMasters!” he called across his shoulder. “I want you for witness here!” But as he and his two riders burst free and spurred down the slope to where the great herd was made he looked back, not hearing hoof beats. McMasters was not with them. “I’ll be damned!” Nabours smothered the remainder of a volley of hot-headed oaths. He did not understand a man who sidestepped when he was needed. CHAPTER VII THE HERD CUTTERS NABOURS, Del Williams and old Sanchez spurred down the saucerlike flat in which the Del Sol herd was held. They arrived none too soon. A party of six strangers, all armed, were engaged in argument with as many of the Del Sol men, who had ridden between them and the edge of the herd. The plunging of the horses and the loud voices began to make the wild cattle uneasy. Other riders were doing all they could to hold the herd from a run, which might have been precisely what the intruders desired. Their leader, a heavy-set, dark-bearded, handsomely dressed man, spurred out to meet Nabours, who came straight in and with no ceremony jerked his mount almost against him. “Who are you, and what do you want here?” he demanded angrily. The stranger coolly turned. “Since you ride up and ask,” rejoined he, “we’re cowmen, and we want our property.” “You’re no cowman!” hotly retorted the old foreman. “Else you wouldn’t be hollering and riding around the aidge of another man’s herd. What you trying to do—start our cattle back in the brush again? Your property be damned! Get on away from the aidge of our herd while you got time!” The numbers of the Del Sol riders, thus increased and led by a determined man, impressed the brusque stranger; but he did not lack assurance. “You buck the law, friend?” said he. “I’ve got certified records of eight brands, and powers of attorney from the owners to comb any herd going off this range. We’re taking no chances.” “You’re taking damned long chances if you keep one more minute where you’re at,” remarked Jim Nabours. “Git back now, if you want to talk this over!”