"Where's Wooden Shoes?" snapped the old man; and the foreman's hat-crown
appeared at that instant over the ridge.

"Well, we're up against it," Eagle Creek greeted. "That damn' agent--or the
fellow he had workin' for him--reported his renting us pasture. Made the
report read about twice as many as we're puttin' on. He's got orders now t'
turn out every hoof but what b'longs there."

"My Lord!" Wooden Shoes gasped at the catastrophe which faced the Cross L.

"That's Harry Conroy's work," Pink cut in sharply' "He'd hurt the Cross L if
he could, t' spite me and Rowdy. He--"

"Don't matter--seein' it's done. Yuh might as well turn the herd loose right
here, an' let 'em go t' the devil. I don't know what else t' do with 'em."

"Anything gone wrong?" It was Rowdy, who had left his place and ridden
forward to see what was holding the herd back.

"Naw. We're fired off the reservation, is all. We got orders to take the
herd to hell. Eagle Creek's leased it. Mr. Satan is going to keep house here
in Montana; he says it's better for his trade," Pink informed him, in his
girlish treble.

Eagle Creek turned on him fiercely, then thought better of it and grinned.
"Them arrangements wouldn't make us any worse off'n what we are," he
commented. "Turn 'em loose, boys."

"Man, if yuh turn 'em loose here, the first storm that hits 'em, they all
die," Wooden Shoes interposed excitedly. "They ain't nothings for 'em. We