It was not the skinning that disturbed Mr. Saltoun. It was the sight of his defunct property. The fact that he was losing cows had struck home at last. Inform a man that he is losing property, and he may or may not become concerned, but show him that same property rendered valueless, and he will become very much concerned. Ocular proof is a wonderful galvanizer. Yet, in the case of Mr. Saltoun, it was not quite wonderful enough. "Oh, they're slick!" exclaimed Loudon, bitterly. "They don't forget nothin'! No wonder Blakely's a manager!" Mr. Saltoun ceased swearing abruptly. "Yo're wrong, Tom," he reproved. "The 88's got nothin' to do with it. I know they ain't, an' that's enough. I'm the loser, not you, an' I'm the one to do the howlin'. An' I don't want to hear any more about the 88 or Blakely." Loudon turned his back on Mr. Saltoun and returned to the wounded man. The cowboy yearned to take his employer by the collar and kick him into a reasonable frame of mind. Such blindness was maddening. Mr. Saltoun heaped fuel on the fire of Loudon's anger by remarking that the rustlers undoubtedly hailed from the Frying-Pan Mountains. Loudon, writhing internally, was on the point of relieving his pent-up feelings when his eye glimpsed a horseman on the high ground above the draw. The puncher reached for his Winchester, but he laid the rifle down when the rider changed direction and came toward them. "Block, ain't it?" inquired Mr. Saltoun. Loudon nodded. His eyes narrowed to slits, his lips set in a straight line. The sheriff rode up and halted, his little eyes shifting from side to side. He spoke to Mr. Saltoun, nodded to Loudon, and then stared at the wounded man. "Got a rustler, I see," he observed dryly, his lips crinkled in a sneering smile. "Yuh see wrong--as usual," said Loudon. "Some friend o' yores shot Johnny." "Friend o' mine? Who?" queried the sheriff, his manner one of mild interest. "Wish I knew. Thought yuh might be able to tell me. Ain't that what yuh come here for?" "Ramsay's shot--that's all we know," interposed Mr. Saltoun, hastily. "An' there's a cow an' calf o' mine over yonder. Skinned, both of 'em." "An' the cow had been branded through a wet blanket," said Loudon, not to be fobbed off. "The Bar S was underneath an' the 88 was on top. Johnny an' me found the dead cow an' the live calf yesterday. I left Johnny here an' rode in to the Bar S. When we got here we found Johnny shot an' the cow an' calf skinned. What do you guess?" "I don't guess nothin'," replied the sheriff. "But it shore looks as if rustlers had been mighty busy." "Don't it?" said Loudon with huge sarcasm. "I guess, now----" "Say, look here, Sheriff," interrupted Mr. Saltoun, anxious to preserve peace, "I ain't makin' no charges against anybody. But this rustlin' has got to stop. I can't afford to lose any more cows. Do somethin'. Yo're sheriff."