As we rode out together, our trail cutters dropped behind and kept a respectable distance from the herd while we threw the cattle together. When the herd had closed to the required compactness, Flood called our trail cutters up and said, “Now, men, each one of you can take one of my outfit with you and inspect this herd to your satisfaction. If you see anything there you claim, we’ll cut it out for you, but don’t attempt to cut anything yourselves.” We rode in by pairs, a man of ours with each stranger, and after riding leisurely through the herd for half an hour, cut out three head in the blotched brand called the “Window Sash.” Before leaving the herd, one of the strangers laid claim to a red cow, but Fox Quarternight refused to cut the animal. When the pair rode out the stranger accosted Flood. “I notice a cow of mine in there,” said he, “not in your road brand, which I claim. Your man here refuses to cut her for me, so I appeal to you.” “What’s her brand, Fox?” asked Flood. “She’s a ‘Q’ cow, but the colonel here thinks it’s an ‘O.’ I happen to know the cow and the brand both; she came into the herd four hundred miles south of here while we were watering the herd in the Nueces River. The ‘Q’ is a little dim, but it’s plenty plain to hold her for the present.” “If she’s a ‘Q’ cow I have no claim on her,” protested the stranger, “but if the brand is an ‘O,’ then I claim her as a stray from our range, and I don’t care if she came into your herd when you were watering in the San Fernando River in Old Mexico, I’ll claim her just the same. I’m going to ask you to throw her.” “I’ll throw her for you,” coolly replied Fox, “and bet you my saddle and six-shooter on the side that it isn’t an ‘O,’ and even if it was, you and all the thieves on the Concho can’t take her. I know a few of the simple principles of rustling myself. Do you want her thrown?” “That’s what I asked for.” “Throw her, then,” said Flood, “and don’t let’s parley.” Fox rode back in to the herd, and after some little delay, located the cow and worked her out to the edge of the cattle. Dropping his rope, he cut her out clear of the herd, and as she circled around in an endeavor to reenter, he rode close and made an easy cast of the rope about her horns. As he threw his horse back to check the cow, I rode to his assistance, my rope in hand, and as the cow turned ends, I heeled her. A number of the outfit rode up and dismounted, and one of the boys taking her by the tail, we threw the animal as humanely as possible. In order to get at the brand, which was on the side, we turned the cow over, when Flood took out his knife and cut the hair away, leaving the brand easily traceable. “What is she, Jim?” inquired Fox, as he sat his horse holding the rope taut. “I’ll let this man who claims her answer that question,” replied Flood, as her claimant critically examined the brand to his satisfaction. “I claim her as an ‘O’ cow,” said the stranger, facing Flood.