"You ain't going to try and put it on us, Frank?"

Frank grinned. "Well, I might, if the suspicions I have as to another
party prove wrong."

"Don't torture 'em, Frank!" protested Peter. "They've been through a good
deal for kids."

"Scott Parsons was the only rider in the valley who didn't like Oscar,"
said John. "That war they've had for two years over the bull was bound to
end in trouble. I warned Oscar."

"Oscar was more to blame than Scott," said the sheriff. "He was the
meanest man for hanging out on a fool thing I ever knew. And I'm just as
fond of Oscar as the rest of you. What was a bull to Oscar! He could buy
a dozen of 'em. Scott hasn't a thing on earth except wages for riding and
that mangy little herd of slicks he's picked up."

"Picked up is right!" grunted John. "That bull, whoever it belonged to,
is standard bred."

"Scott was born with a nasty temper." Peter spoke thoughtfully. "He told
Oscar in front of me he would get him. That was about two weeks ago."

"Did Oscar tell any one he was going anywhere?" asked the sheriff.

"Not me," said Peter. "Why not let the kids go home?"

"Sure," agreed Frank. "You've done a good night's work, you two. Get some
sleep now."