"Well, Tom, it's a good thing you moved last night," said Bob, as he reined in his reeking horse."A deputy sheriff and posse of six men had me under arrest all night, thinking I was the Quirk who had charge of Don Lovell's 'Open A' herd.Yes, they came to my camp about midnight, and I admitted that my name was Quirk and that we were holding Lovell's cattle.They guarded me until morning,--I slept like an innocent babe myself,--when the discovery was made that my herd was in a 'Circle Dot' road-brand instead of an 'Open A,' which their warrant called for.Besides, I proved by fourteen competent witnesses, who had known me for years, that my name was Robert Burns Quirk.My outfit told the posse that the herd they were looking for were camped three miles below, but had left during the afternoon before, and no doubt were then beyond their bailiwick.I gave the posse the horse-laugh, but they all went down the creek, swearing they would trail down that herd of Lovell's.My cattle are going to follow up this morning, so I thought I'd ride on ahead and be your guest in case there is any fun to-day."The auxiliary was welcomed.The beeves moved on up the divide like veterans assaulting an intrenchment.On reaching a narrow mesa on the summit, a northwest breeze met the leaders, and facing it full in the eye, the herd was allowed to tack westward as they went down the farther slope.This watershed afforded a fine view of the surrounding country, and from its apex I scanned our rear for miles without detecting any sign of animate life.
>From our elevation, the plain dipped away in every direction.Far to the east, the depression seemed as real as a trough in the ocean when seen from the deck of a ship.The meanderings of this divide were as crooked as a river, and as we surveyed its course one of Bob's men sighted with the naked eye two specks fully five miles distant to the northwest, and evidently in the vicinity of the old trail.The wagon was in plain view, and leaving three of my boys to drift the cattle forward, we rode away with ravenous appetites to interview the cook.Parent maintained his reputation as host, and with a lofty conversation reviewed the legal aspect of the situation confronting us.A hasty breakfast over, my brother asked for mounts for himself and men; and as we were corralling our remuda, one of the three lads on herd signaled to us from the mesa's summit.Catching the nearest horses at hand, and taking our wrangler with us, we cantered up the slope to our waiting sentinel.
"You can't see them now," said Burl Van Vedder, our outlook; "but wait a few minutes and they'll come up on higher ground.Here, here, you are looking a mile too far to the right--they're not following the cattle, but the wagon's trail.Keep your eyes to the left of that shale outcropping, and on a line with that lone tree on the Saw Log.Hold your horses a minute; I've been watching them for half an hour before I called you; be patient, and they'll rise like a trout.There! there comes one on a gray horse.See those two others just behind him.Now, there come the others--six all told." Sure enough, there came the sleuths of deputy sheriffs, trailing up our wagon.They were not over three miles away, and after patiently waiting nearly an hour, we rode to the brink of the slope, and I ordered one of the boys to fire his pistol to attract their attention.On hearing the report, they halted, and taking off my hat I waved them forward.Feeling that we were on safe territory, I was determined to get in the first bluff, and as they rode up, I saluted the leader and said:
