His tone angered the manager. "I ain't askin' if you've got anything on him," he returned. "But we missed more cattle yesterday, an' it looks mighty suspicious. Since we had that talk about Radford, when you told me it wasn't him doin' the rustlin' I've changed my mind a heap. I'm thinkin' he rustled them cattle last night." Ferguson looked quizzically at him. "How many cattle you missin'?" he questioned. Stafford banged a fist heavily down upon his desk top. "We're twenty calves short on the tally," he declared, "an' half a dozen cows. We ain't got to the steers yet, but I'm expectin' to find them short too." Ferguson drew a deep breath. The number of cattle missing tallied exactly with the number he had seen in the basin down the river. A glint of triumph lighted his eyes, but he looked down upon Stafford, drawling: "You been doin' the tallyin'?" "Yes." Ferguson was now smiling grimly. "Where's your range boss?" he questioned. "The boys say he rode over to the river lookin' for strays. Sent word that he'd be in to-morrow. But I don't see what he's got to do----" "No," returned Ferguson, "of course. You say them cattle was rustled last night?" "Yes." Stafford banged his fist down with a positiveness that left no doubt of his knowledge. "Well, now," observed Ferguson, "an' so you're certain Radford rustled them." He smiled again saturninely. "I ain't sayin' for certain," returned Stafford, puzzled by Ferguson's manner. "What I'm gettin' at is that there ain't no one around here that'd rustle them except Radford." "There ain't no other nester around here that you know of?" questioned Ferguson. "No. Radford's the only one." Ferguson lingered a moment. Then he walked slowly to the door. "I reckon that's all," he said. "To-morrow I'm goin' to show you your rustler." He had stepped out of the door and was gone into the gathering dusk before Stafford could ask the question that was on the end of his tongue. CHAPTER XXII KEEPING A PROMISE Ferguson's dreams had been troubled. Long before dawn he was awake and outside the bunkhouse, splashing water over his face from the tin wash basin that stood on the bench just outside the door. Before breakfast he had saddled and bridled Mustard, and directly after the meal he was in the saddle, riding slowly toward the river. Before very long he was riding through Bear Flat, and after a time he came to the hill where only two short days before he had reveled in the supreme happiness that had followed months of hope and doubt. It did not seem as though it had been only two days. It seemed that time was playing him a trick. Yet he knew that to-day was like yesterday--each day like its predecessor--that if the hours dragged it was because in the bitterness of his soul he realized that today could not be--for him--like the day before yesterday; and that succeeding days gave no promise of restoring to him the happiness that he had lost.