"Oh, yes, father," added Juliet, "he's been with them for almost two days." "Is this so, Mr. Larkin?" asked Bissell. "Yes." "Well, we won't discuss it now," said the cowman. "Let's go back to the ranch house and get something to eat. I have an extra horse here, Larkin, if you care to ride." "I don't care to, thanks," answered Bud dryly. "Since you have ruined me, you will do me a favor by letting me go." "I allow I'd like to do you a favor," rejoined Bissell with equal courtesy, "but I've got to find out about them rustlers. We won't keep yuh long." "Come on, get up on that horse," said the voice of Stelton close beside him, and Bud turned to look into the long barrel of the foreman's gun that was stuck under his nose. Trembling with suppressed fury, he did as he was told, but on the ten-mile ride to the Bar T ranch said nothing, and only revolved in his mind one question: How did Stelton know he had been with the rustlers before Julie had said anything about them? CHAPTER XI MADE PRISONER At three o'clock the next afternoon Beef Bissell felt better than he had for some time, this condition being a result of his vindictive triumph over Bud Larkin, and the fact that that young man was in his hands. He felt that the back of the sheep business had been broken as far as his range and his county were concerned. I have put the opening of this chapter at three o'clock, because that was the hour at which life began to be manifest at the Bar T ranch after the stirring events of the night before. Bud Larkin himself, worn out with his nights and days of vigil, had gone to sleep on his bed almost in the act of taking his boots off. Vague ideas of escape had coursed through his mind only to be overtaken and killed by the slumber he had evaded for so long. His window faced southwest, and when he awoke it was to find the dazzling gold of the sun warming his face. For a moment he did not realize where he was, staring thus into the blinding radiance; but memory is only a few seconds sleepier than its master, and shortly everything came back to him. A sinking sensation came over him as he remembered the wanton slaughter of his sheep, more because of the helpless agony of the poor dumb brutes than because of the monetary loss, although the latter was no trifling consideration, since nearly eight thousand dollars had been wiped out in less than half an hour. Added to this sickening sensation was one of dull, choking rage that Bissell, a man of wealth and certain prominence in the State, should suggest and pursue a course that the most despised sheep-herder would never countenance. That, Larkin told himself, showed the real man; the rough, crude product of a rough and bitter country. For the slogan of the earlier West was selfishness. "All this is mine and don't you come a-nigh me!" bawled the cowman when the nesters or grangers began to make their appearance.