“See that you’re well heeled,” admonished the fiery foreman of the Box B as he hurried into the bunkhouse to strap on an extra revolver.

Slim made sure that his saddle was well cinched for they would be riding fast and hard.

Just before they started, Walt Kelly and Chuck rode in from the south. They were speedily informed that Box B cattle had been driven into Double O territory and that the Box B was determined to have none of that. They joined the raiding party with a whoop and all five riders set out at full speed for the north range, leaving a startled Lee Wu to guard the home place and his wounded boss.

“How many do you think were driven onto the Double O?” asked Joe as they galloped northward.

“I’d say about forty head,” replied Slim, “and from what I saw of them yesterday, they were all prime beef.”

“That’s just the kind of cattle we’ve been losing right along, prime stuff that knocks the bottom out of our pocketbook. If this keeps on much longer, we won’t have anything left to ship this fall. I never figured old man Anderson would stoop to rustling our stuff, but it looks like we have the goods on him.”

The little cavalcade whirled northward, a trail of dust mounting in its wake and hanging in the still afternoon air.

They topped a slope and looked down on the Double O range. A little more than a mile away they could see a few cattle grazing.

“Maybe that’s our stuff over there,” shouted Walt.

Joe shook his head. “They’d have driven them further into their own range.”

They swung westward along the range line to the place where Doug and Slim had picked off the tracks of the missing cattle.

Joe swung out of the saddle and scanned the hoofprints of the horses which had driven the cattle into the Double O territory.

“Only three riders made the raid,” he grunted. “They had plenty of nerve.”

Slim, looking down at the hoof prints could hardly suppress an exclamation of surprise. There was a distinct V-shaped nick in the left rear shoe of one of the horses! There had been a similar nick on the same shoe of the horse which had carried the bushwhacker safely away from the vengeance of the Box B.

Slim leaned down and spoke to Joe, and they moved out of earshot of the others.

“Listen Joe, there was a V-shaped nick in the left rear shoe of the horse I chased all over your west range. There’s the same kind of a nick in one of the hoofprints here.”

“You mean the fellow who took a shot at the boss was one of the fellows who rustled the cattle last night?”

“It looks that way.”

Joe’s honest eyes narrowed to steely slits and his lips tightened into a grim line.

“The Double O had always been a tough outfit, but I never figured old man Anderson would stand for murder. If we find one of their riders is riding a horse with a shoe like that, watch out for trouble in great big chunks.”

The Box B riders remounted and started north into the Double O territory. From the trail, it was evident that the cattle had been driven hard, but the small herd had been fairly easy to handle.

They penetrated more than a mile into the Double O range when a group of riders galloped into sight over a low hill.

“Here comes trouble,” grinned Chuck, loosening his rifle and making sure that it was ready for fast action. The other Box B riders looked at their guns and Slim’s heart tightened. Tempers were at a fighting pitch. It would require some real diplomacy to get through the next few minutes without someone being hurt, perhaps seriously.

The two groups of riders swept toward each other at a furious pace, slowing down only when they were less than two hundred yards apart. At a hundred yards they stopped, eyeing each other warily, waiting for the first break.

“Old man Anderson’s with his boys and he’s wearing two guns,” said Joe. “That means he’s on the warpath sure.”

Slim counted the Double O riders. Five men were ranged behind their boss and he recognized one of them as Al Bass, the range rider they had seen the day before.

“They’ve got our cattle,” said Walt Kelly impatiently. “What are we going to do, talk or shoot?”

“We’ll talk first,” said Joe, curbing his first impulse to shoot it out, for the Box B was outnumbered.

Joe held up his hand and started forward, calling to Slim, “You ride with me and the rest stay here and watch for any break.”

Nels Anderson and Al Bass rode forward from the Double O group and they met halfway between.

The owner of the Double O was a gigantic Swede, well over six feet tall and as broad as an ox. His huge hands rested easily on the pommel of his saddle and the butts of his six guns protruded from the holsters on each leg. The light blue eyes peered out from beneath shaggy eyebrows and his whole face was a picture of intense rage. He burst into an immediate accusation.

“You fellows got nerve,” he roared. “Stealing my cattle and then riding over here in the daytime hunting more. By gar, this is going to stop and stop right here!”

“What do you mean, stealing your cattle?” replied Joe angrily. “All we’re doing is trailing a herd of our own stuff that you’ve driven into your range. Fine thing for a man’s neighbor to turn rustler.”

The Swede’s face flushed an angry red and his right hand clawed at his gun, but Al Bass reached out quickly and seized the hand with a firm grip.

“Hold it, Nels,” he said. “There’s something wrong here. I saw Box B cattle on our range better than a mile back. They’re hunting their stuff on our territory and we’re looking for some of our choice beef on their side of the line.”

It was with difficulty that the owner of the Double O controlled his surging temper, and when he spoke his voice was filled with emotion.

“Don’t you call me a rustler again,” he warned Joe. “Next time maybe Al won’t be here to stop me.”

“Sorry, Nels, but my temper got away from me. We’ve been losing cattle right and left and this time we figured we’d trailed some of our prime beef right into your back yard.”

“Yeh,” grunted Al Bass. “There’s a trail a quarter mile west of here where about sixty head of our stuff was driven onto your range last night. Laugh that one off.”

“Looks to me like a clever attempt to get the Box B and the Double O into a lot of gun play and clean both outfits out while they were busy trying to settle grievances,” said Slim.

He turned to Nels Anderson. Briefly he told him of the attempt to kill Adam Marks and how he had trailed the bushwhacker, only to be beaten back by the storm.

“The man who shot Adam Marks was riding a horse that had a V-shaped mark on the left rear shoe,” said Slim. “We found the same mark left by one of the horses used to drive our cattle onto your range last night.”

“So you figured that it was a Double O rider who tried to kill your boss,” said Al Bass.

“That’s about the ticket,” said Joe.

Nels Anderson’s big frame shook with anger.

“Fools, fools,” he cried. “Why, Adam and I came here together. We don’t always agree, but by gar I sure wouldn’t let anyone take a shot at him.”

Al Bass leaned forward.

“I was the fellow who found out our cattle had been rustled and I got a good look at the hoofprints left by the rustlers’ horses. There’s just such a mark as you described on one of the left rear prints.”

Slim smiled a little grimly.

“I’d kind of figured there would be. Seems like these two outfits ought to forget any past troubles and realize that through a clever trick the rustlers almost had them fighting each other to death. We figured one of your boys tried to get our boss, and that your whole outfit was stealing our cattle, while you fellows were dead sure we rustled off your beef last night.”

Nels Anderson leaned over toward the Box B foreman, thrusting out a huge hand.

“Joe, your boy is right. We have been blind. You tell Adam that from now on we ride together. I’ll come see him soon. Now we better throw in together. We’ll round up your stuff and drive it back on your range and then bring our cattle back.”

They united forces and turned back into the Double O range to hunt out the Box B cattle. Slim felt that real progress had been made. The differences between the Double O and the Box B had been smoothed over and the two largest outfits in the Creeping Shadows had united for a stand against the rustlers. He looked over the cowpunchers. They were a hard riding lot, every one of them capable of a good fight and Slim knew that the rustlers were going to be in for some dangerous hours before many more days passed.