He stopped to reach forward, poised for the cast, then froze in his tracks as some one beyond the bushes spoke his name. He turned his head and stared upward, but could see nothing save the yellow-leaved thicket. “Aw, that damn ranger!” came Peterson’s drawling voice. “Forget him! Plenty of time for gettin’ him outa the way. Now we’ll settle about the cattle for Whiskers. When will he be through gatherin’ ’em?” “We’re through now with the bunch I told yuh about,” the voice of Little Bill made reply. “All you can git away with safe. They was throwed in on Castle Creek yesterday. That’s the reason the old man’s been keepin’ cattle outa Castle Creek, so the feed’ll be good to hold his beef steers on till he gits ready to trail ’em out.” “Somebody’ll stay with ’em, perhaps. Will you be the one, Bill?” “Aw, they don’t need herdin’, Gus. The drift fence holds ’em from crossin’ to Drew’s range and they won’t work back up over the ridge the other way—not with the feed like it is in there. That’s the way old Boyce figures on savin’ men’s wages. He’ll throw all the beef in there fast as we gather, and make one drive out. I’m s’posed to be huntin’ strays over here, Gus.” Peterson grunted, and another voice which O’Neill did not recognize spoke up, offering a few choice remarks on the subject of Boyce’s stinginess. He was answered by yet another, and when Peterson spoke again, a third man’s voice was raised in protest. “If you take ’em up around Lodgepole Basin and across Squaw Gulch and that way—why, hell! You might just as well ride up to Boyce and tell ’em you got his steers—and what’ll he do to yuh! He’s goin’ to miss the bunch first time any one rides to Castle Creek, an’ a blind man could foller their trail. “Now, what yuh want to do is take ’em out on Drew’s range, on Limestone. We can break the drift fence there and make it look like the cattle done it, and take the bunch out that way, on Drew’s range, and haze some of Drew’s cattle back through the fence onto Castle Creek. That way, old Boyce won’t miss his cattle for a week, maybe. Neither will Drew, because he ain’t half through with his round-up yet. When they’re ready to make their drive out, it’ll look like the cattle got mixed up, is all. And if Boyce don’t find his steers over on Drew’s range, let ’em lock horns over it if they want to! They’re always fighting, anyway, over the line or some darn thing. “That way, there ain’t any mysterious tracks across Myers Creek and up Squaw Gulch way, and it’s about as close to where you want to hold ’em, Gus. Time the brands is healed and you get ’em down outa that high basin, winter’ll be on and you’re dead safe. You’ll make a late drive this year with your beef, that’s all, and you’ll have all Box S brands—see? If that damn O’Neill don’t go prowling around up there-”