Another problem troubled him. How were the rustlers disposing of their stolen stock? The Double R range had been robbed wholesale, and Bill McAllister had learned through the Cattlemen's Association that no large herds that were not absolutely bona fide had been sold. Yet the rustlers must get their stock out some way. McAllister shook his head and commenced to harness the two horses. He was brought out of his meditations by a low voice close to him. "Yuh Mr. McAllister?" He nodded. "My handle is Toothpick Jarrick. I got a message for Jim. Yuh tell him that me an' a couple of his friends has the jasper he wants. We camp up the dry wash tother side of Hog Butte. Tell him to come an' do his barkin'--we'll be watchin'." Bill McAllister stared. His mind raced backward, and he realized the meaning of this strange message. "Yuh mean yuh got Squint Lane?" His voice was husky with eagerness. "Yep, we sure has. I gets his telegram, collects a coupla friends, an' go collect this Squint person. They thinks a lot of Jim down Cannondale way, so they arranges for a box car hitched to a train for the Three Roads Junction. We piles in, hosses an' all, an' a good time is had by all 'cept this Squint person, who is sufferin' some, both bodily an' mental torment. We gets to the junction yesterday, rides to a suitable place, an' then I comes lookin' for Jim." Suddenly he raised his voice. "Mister, I'm tellin' yuh I ride pronto; this here town is too dead for me," he cried, as the hostler appeared in the doorway. Bill McAllister was in a fever of impatience to pass on the news of Squint's capture to Jim Allen, as he rode back to the Double R that afternoon with Dot Reed. He sighed with relief when he saw the diminutive outlaw trooping toward the cookhouse with the other riders to answer the supper call. Allen had been assigned to night riding the cavvy, and it was his custom to go there each night with Snoots Stevens, change his saddle to one of the grays, and then leave for parts unknown. Bill McAllister bolted his food and then rode out to intercept Allen. It was shortly after dusk when Allen and Snoots rode up to where Bill awaited them. The old-timer drew Allen aside and hastily told him the news. They rode forward to the pasture, and Allen whistled for Honeyboy. The great stallion cantered up, and the outlaw swiftly changed saddles. They gave Snoots certain orders and rode away through the night. They left behind them the most curious cow-puncher in Texas. For the first four or five miles the two rode in complete silence, as there was danger of encountering some of the men assigned to night riding. They passed no riders, and McAllister swore to himself when he realized that they were crossing the best part of the range and that it should have been covered with bedded cattle--yet they passed scarcely a hundred head.