your herd as I promised you I would. Throw off and hold up your
cattle, or I'll do it for you."

Several of our outfit rode up at this juncture in time to hear Flood's
reply: "If you think you're equal to the occasion, hold them up
yourself. If I had as big an outfit _as_ you have, I wouldn't ask any
man to help me. I want to watch a Colorado River outfit work a
herd,--I might learn something. My outfit will take a rest, or perhaps
hold the cut or otherwise clerk for you. But be careful and don't
claim anything that you are not certain is your own, for I reserve the
right to look over your cut before you drive it away."

The rustlers rode in a body to the lead, and when they had thrown the
herd off the trail, about half of them rode back and drifted forward
the rear cattle. Flood called our outfit to one side and gave us our
instructions, the herd being entirely turned over to the rustlers.
After they began cutting, we rode around and pretended to assist in
holding the cut as the strays in our herd were being cut out. When the
red "Q" cow came out, Fox cut her back, which nearly precipitated a
row, for she was promptly recut to the strays by the man who claimed
her the day before. Not a man of us even cast a glance up the trail,
or in the direction of the Rangers; but when the work was over, Flood
protested with the leader of the rustlers over some five or six head
of dim-branded cattle which actually belonged to our herd. But he was
exultant and would listen to no protests, and attempted to drive away
the cut, now numbering nearly fifty head. Then we rode across their
front and stopped them.

In the parley which ensued, harsh words were passing, when one of our
outfit blurted out in well feigned surprise,--