mine in there," said he, "not in your road brand, which I claim. Your
man here refuses to cut her for me, so I appeal to you."

"What's her brand, Fox?" asked Flood.

"She's a 'Q' cow, but the colonel here thinks it's an 'O.' I happen to
know the cow and the brand both; she came into the herd four hundred
miles south of here while we were watering the herd in the Nueces
River. The 'Q' is a little dim, but it's plenty plain to hold her for
the present."

"If she's a 'Q' cow I have no claim on her," protested the stranger,
"but if the brand is an 'O,' then I claim her as a stray from our
range, and I don't care if she came into your herd when you were
watering in the San Fernando River in Old Mexico, I'll claim her just
the same. I'm going to ask you to throw her."

"I'll throw her for you," coolly replied Fox, "and bet you my saddle
and six-shooter on the side that it isn't an 'O,' and even if it was,
you and all the thieves on the Concho can't take her. I know a few of
the simple principles of rustling myself. Do you want her thrown?"

"That's what I asked for."

"Throw her, then," said Flood, "and don't let's parley."

Fox rode back in to the herd, and after some little delay, located the
cow and worked her out to the edge of the cattle. Dropping his rope,
he cut her out clear of the herd, and as she circled around in an
endeavor to reenter, he rode close and made an easy cast of the rope