At the beginning of his long month of waiting Pecos Dalhart was watchful and conservative. He branded up all the cattle that had drifted into Lost Dog Cañon, drove them down into his hidden pasture and closed the breach in his drift fence—then he moved back to Carrizo and went soberly about his work. Old Funny-face and her spotted calf were the only Monkey-wrench cows at Carrizo Springs and though he held a bill of sale for them Pecos was finally compelled to drive them over the trail to his Lost Dog pasture in order to keep them from sneaking back home to Verde Crossing and tipping his hand prematurely to Isaac Crittenden. He was a hard man, Old Crit, especially when his pocket-book was touched, and Pecos looked for a gunplay when the Boss finally found him out; but if Crittenden got wind of his duplicity in advance he might come over with all his Texas cowboys and wipe Mr. Pecos Dalhart off the map. So at the start he was careful, running nothing but Wine-glasses on the U cows that still came drifting in over the mountains, but as the days went by and his courage mounted up against the time when he was to face Old Crit a spirit of bravado crept in on him and made him over-bold. All he wanted now was a show-down, and he wanted it quick—one Monkey-wrench brand would tell the story. With a sardonic grin Pecos put his rope on a likely young maverick and burned a Monkey-wrench on his ribs; then, in order that there should be no mistake, he worked over the brand on a U cow and put his iron on the calf. As the last days of the month dragged by and the fighting spirit within him clamored for action he threw caution to the winds, running a Monkey-wrench on every cow-brute he caught. For weeks Pecos had watched the brow of the hill where the Verde trail came in, and he wore his six-shooter constantly, even at his branding, but when at last Crittenden finally rode in on him he was so intent about his work that he almost overlooked him. Only the fidgeting of his horse, which was holding the rope taut on a big U cow that he had strung out, saved him from being surprised at his task and taken at a disadvantage. One glance was enough—it was Crit, and he was alone. Pecos stood up and looked at him as he came slowly down the hill—then, as the cow struggled to get up, he seized his running iron from the fire, spread a wet sack over her brand, and burned a big Monkey-wrench through the steaming cloth. "Hello!" hailed the cowman, spurring eagerly in on him. "Are you catchin' many?" "Oodles of 'em!" answered Pecos, loosening his tie-down strings and swinging up on his horse. "Git up there, cow, and show yourse'f off to the Boss!" He slackened the taut reata that was fastened around her hind feet and as the old cow sprang up, shaking off the sack, the smoking Monkey-wrench on her ribs stood out like hand-writing on the wall. "Wh-what's that?" gasped Crit, staring at the mark. "I thought I told you to run a Wine-glass!"