They all mounted and Scott led them up the trail in silence. He could have taken them directly along the bench at the edge of the cliff, but he preferred to go around by the ridge trail and keep them in suspense. He saw that the supervisor thought that he was bluffing. The farther they went along the ridge trail the more relieved Jed Clark looked, but when they turned short off the trail to the south his spirits dropped once more. Scott rode straight for the cañon now. There was no one in sight and he did feel a little worried for a minute. What if they had moved those sheep in spite of Baxter? But he thought of Baxter and the three thousand sheep down at the foot of the cliff and knew that he had no reason to be nervous. As they rode into the mouth of the cañon an astonished herder jumped from the improvised fence and stared at them wide eyed. Scott paid no attention to him, but led the others straight up to the fence. The bleating of hungry sheep had already reached them, but when Mr. Ramsey saw how many were packed inside the fence he whistled his amazement. “We can make a little hole in this fence and count them as they go out,” Scott explained. He still felt a little grouchy about Ramsey’s attitude even when he looked at Jed’s beaten face. “Pretty clever scheme, Jed,” the supervisor said patronizingly, “but Burton seems to have caught you at it.” Jed stared at Scott as though he would have liked to tear him to pieces, but maintained a sullen silence. “How many are there in there?” Ramsey asked. “About two thousand as nearly as I could judge,” answered Baxter who had come up unnoticed. Every one was too excited to even notice that he was a newcomer. “Two thousand!” Mr. Ramsey exclaimed, “That is the most any one has ever tried to run in on me yet.” “That’s not half of them,” Scott said. “What?” Ramsey cried. “Not half of them? Where are the others? Turn these out to get something to eat. You count them as they go out, Baxter.” Scott mounted and rode out of the cañon. The others followed closely. The silence of the other cañon was oppressive compared with the noise of the first one. “Seem to have ‘flued the coop,’” Dawson remarked. Scott dismounted and tore a hole in the brush fence. He led the way down to the bottom of the cañon. “They’re down there,” he said pointing over the edge of the cliff. The tracks leading into the narrow neck and the trampled shrubs along the edge of the cliff told the story only too plainly. Mr. Ramsey walked cautiously to the edge and looked over. “Gosh,” he exclaimed drawing back quickly. “That’s an awful sight. How many were there?” “Somewhere around three thousand,” Scott replied; “I could not tell exactly.” “It was a clever scheme, Jed,” Ramsey repeated, “but it did not work.” Jed was completely crushed. Scott felt sorry for him, little as he deserved it. “It was a clever scheme, all right,” Scott said, “but it was not Jed’s.” “Who’s was it, then?” Ramsey asked in astonishment.