And right there a sort of shivery feeling attacked Whitey's spine and moved up until it reached his hair, which straightway began to stand on end, for the object was a boot and in it was a man's leg. The boot came, followed by the leg, followed by a man. From what might be called the twin straw beds, another man emerged. Both sat upright in the straw and rubbed their eyes. Whitey didn't wait to see if any more were coming, or even to think of where he was going. He fled. Instinct took him toward the ranch house, and good fortune brought Bill Jordan out of the door at the same moment. "Bill!" yelled Whitey, "there's two men in the straw stack!" Bill did not appear unduly excited. "They ain't eatin' the straw, are they?" he inquired. "No, but they look awfully tough, and they nearly gave me heart-disease," Whitey panted. "If tough-lookin' folks could give me heart-disease, I'd of bin dead long ago," Bill responded. "Let's go an' size 'em up." Bill strolled to the stack with Whitey. The two men, now thoroughly awake, were still sitting upright in the straw. In front of them stood Sitting Bull. His lower jaw was sticking out farther than usual, and he was watching the men and awaiting events. [Illustration: IN FRONT OF THEM STOOD SITTING BULL] "Hey! Call off yer dog, will ye?" requested one of the men. "He ain't mine," Bill answered calmly, indicating Whitey. "He's his." "Well, get him to call him off," said the man. "Every time we move he makes a noise like sudden death." Whitey summoned Bull, who came to him obediently enough, and the men rose to their feet, and stretched themselves and brushed off some of the straw that clung to their not over-neat attire. They were not as bad-looking as they might have been, neither were they as good-looking. One was tall and slim and wore a dark beard. The other was almost as tall, but, being very fat, did not look his height. He was clean-shaven, or would have been had it not been for about three days' stubbly growth. Their clothes were well-worn, and they wore no collars, but their boots were good. "What you fellers doin' here?" demanded Bill. "Ain't the bunk house good enough for you?" "We got in late, an' ev'body was in bed," said the taller of the two. "We're walkin' through for th' thrashin'." "Well, yer late for that too," said Bill.