Pecos had no difficulty in thinking. Like many another man of wandering habits he had already tasted the bitterness of "ten dollars or ten days." The hyenas of the law had gathered him in while he was innocently walking down the railroad track and a low-browed justice of the peace without asking any useless questions had sentenced him to jail for vagrancy. Ten days of brooding and hard fare had not sweetened his disposition any and he had stepped free with the firm determination to wreak a notable revenge, but as the sheriff thoughtfully kept his six-shooter Pecos had been compelled to postpone that exposition of popular justice. Nevertheless the details of his wrongs were still fresh in his mind, and when he learned from the _Voice of Reason_ that the constable and judge had made him all that trouble for an aggregate fee of six dollars Pecos was ready to oppose all law, in whatsoever form it might appear, with summary violence. And as for the capitalistic classes—well, Pecos determined to collect his last month's pay from Old Crit if he had to take it out of his hide. When next he rode into Verde Crossing the hang-dog look which had possessed Pecos Dalhart since he turned rustler was displaced by a purposeful frown. He rolled truculently in the saddle as he came down the middle of the road, and wasted no time with preliminaries. "Where's that blankety-blank Old Crit?" he demanded, racking into the store with his hand on his hip. "Gone down to Geronimo to git the mail," replied Babe, promptly. "Well, you tell him I want my pay!" thundered Pecos, pacing up and down. "He'll be back to-night, better stay and tell him yourself," suggested Babe, mildly. "I'll do that," responded Pecos, nodding ominously. "And more'n that—I'll collect it. What's doin'?" "Oh, nothin'," replied Babe. "There was a deputy assessor up here the other day and he left this blank for you to fill out. It gives the number of your cattle." "Well, you tell that deputy to go to hell, will you?" "Nope," said Babe, "he might take me with him. It happens he's a deputy sheriff, too!" "Deputy,—_huh_!" grumbled Pecos, morosely. "They all look the same to me. Did Crit fill out his blank?" "Sure did. Reported a hundred head of Wine-glasses. Now what d'ye think of that?" Pecos paused and meditated on the matter for an instant. It was doubtful if Crittenden could gather more than a hundred head of Wine-glasses, all told. Some of them had drifted back to their old range and the rest were scattered in a rough country. "Looks like that deputy threw a scare into him," he observed, dubiously. "What did he say about my cattle?" "Well, he said you'd registered a new brand and now it was up to you to show that you had some cattle. If you've got 'em you ought to pay taxes on 'em and if you haven't got any you got no business with an iron that will burn over Upton's U."