against him.

"All right," sneered the foreman. "Run with yore tale of grief to
Crawford. Tell him I been pickin' on you. I hear you've got to be quite
a pet of his."

This brought Dave up with a short turn. He could not take advantage of
the service he had done the owner of the D Bar Lazy R to ask him to
interfere in his behalf with the foreman. Doble might be cynically
defrauding him of part of what was due him in wages. Dave would have to
fight that out with him for himself. The worst of it was that he had no
redress. Unless he appealed to the cattleman he would have to accept
what the foreman offered.

Moreover, his pride was touched. He was young enough to be sensitive on
the subject of his ability to look out for himself.

"I'm no pet of anybody," he flung out. "Gimme that money. It ain't a
square deal, but I reckon I can stand it."

"I reckon you'll have to. It's neck meat or nothin'," grunted the
foreman.

Doble counted him out eighty dollars in cattlemen's checks and paid him
two-fifty in cash. While Dave signed a receipt the hook-nosed foreman,
broad shoulders thrown back and thumbs hitched in the arm-holes of his
vest, sat at ease in a tilted chair and grinned maliciously at his
victim. He was "puttin' somethin' over on him," and he wanted Dave to
know it. Dug had no affection for his half-brother, but he resented
the fact that Sanders publicly and openly despised him as a crook. He