"Yes, mother," replied the girl quietly. "I am going to Bud and find out the truth about him. I cannot live like this any longer. I shall go crazy or kill myself. But I promise you this, that I will find father and bring him home to you." The eyes of Martha Bissell clouded with long-suppressed tears. "God bless you, Juliet," she said. "I can't live without him any longer." CHAPTER XXII THE USE OF PHOTOGRAPHY It was noon and the great column of parched animals and hot, dusty men had come to a halt under their alkali cloud beside a little stream. The foot-weary sheep and cattle, without the usual preliminaries, lay down where they stood, relieved for once from the incessant nipping of the dogs and proddings of the men. Sims, walking among the sheep with down-drawn brows, noted their condition, how gaunt they were, how dirty and weary, and shook his head in commiseration. Had he but known it he was as gaunt and worn-looking as the weakest of them. Returning to where Larkin had dropped in the shade of the cook-wagon, he said: "We've got to make it to-night if the Old Boy himself is in the way." Larkin realized the seriousness of the situation. Water and feed were plentiful, but owing to the hurry of the drive the animals were starving on their feet. Less than five miles away was the Gray Bull River, the goal of their march. Once across that and they would be out of the Bar T range and free to continue north, for the next ranch-owner had gone in for sheep himself (one of the first to see the handwriting on the wall), and had gladly granted Larkin's flocks a passage across his range. "What I can't understand is where all those cowpunchers are," continued Sims. "I'm plenty sure they wouldn't let us through if we was within a foot of the river, they're that cussed." He had hardly got the words out of his mouth when from ahead of the herd appeared a horseman at a hard gallop, quirting his pony at every few jumps. Pulling the animal back on its haunches at the cook-wagon, the rider vaulted out of the saddle and was blurting out his story almost before he had touched the ground. "Up ahead there!" he gasped. "Cow-punchers! Looks like a hundred of 'em. I seen 'em from a butte. I 'low they've dug fifty pits and they've stuck sharp stakes into the ground pointed this way. They're ready fer us, an' don't yuh ferget it." Sims and Larkin looked at each other without speaking. Now it was plain that the punchers had had plenty of reason for not molesting them; they had been preparing a surprise. "An' that ain't all, boss," went on the rider. "I took a slant through my glasses, and what d'yuh suppose I seen? There, as big as life, was old Beef Bissell an' Red Tarken, and a lot more o' them cowmen. How they ever got there I dunno, but it's worth figurin' out of a cold winter's evenin'."