before mornin'."

"Much obliged, boys," returned the Dean. Then, with his ever-ready jest,
"Sure you put the right brand on that calf?"

"We-all ain't ridin' for no Tailholt Mountain outfit this season,"
retorted Bert dryly, as they all laughed at the Dean's question.

And at the cowboy's words Patches, wondering, saw the laughing faces
change and looks of grim significance flash from man to man.

"Anybody seen anything over your way lately?" asked the Dean quietly.

In the moment of silence that followed the visitors looked questioningly
from the face of Patches to the Dean and then to Phil. Phil smiled his
endorsement of the stranger, and "Shorty" said, "We found a couple of
fresh-branded calves what didn't seem to have no mothers last week, and
Bud Stillwell says some things look kind o' funny over in the D.1
neighborhood."

Another significant silence followed. To Patches, it seemed as the
brooding hush that often precedes a storm. He had not missed those
questioning looks of the visitors, and had seen Phil's smiling
endorsement, but he could not, of course, understand. He could only
wonder and wait, for he felt intuitively that he must not speak. It was
as though these strong men who had received him so generously into
their lives put him, now, outside their circle, while they considered
business of grave moment to themselves.

"Well, boys," said the Dean, as if to dismiss the subject, "I've been in