Upon the highest ridge between the camp and old Peter's basin Hope and the twins met Ned riding slowly along, his sturdy little legs drawn up into the straps of a man's saddle. He had an old, discarded felt hat of his father's, several sizes too large for him, pulled down until his ears laid flat along the brim. From under its wide, dingy expanse his sharp, little black eyes peered out inquisitively. In imitation of a certain French breed whom he greatly admired, a large red handkerchief was knotted about his waist.

He made a picturesque little figure in the bright sunlight as he rode leisurely toward them.

"Where've you all been?" he called at the top of his boyish treble. "You boys're goin' to catch it if you don't bring in those cows before dark!"

"Who told you?" roared Dave.

"The old man told me to come an' look you fellers up. Where've you been?" inquired the child, riding up alongside and swinging his horse into pace with the others.

"Now you want to find out something," said Dan complacently.

"I don't care where you've been," said the child indignantly, "but you'd better be roundin' in them cows or you'll catch it!"

Hope rode up beside him. "I'm sorry you weren't home when we left. We've been over at my cousin's camp. The next time you shall go along."

"Let's go to-morrow," suggested the boy eagerly, to which amusing proposition she immediately agreed. "Say," he continued, "I seen Long Bill and some o' them fellers drive in a bunch of mavericks off'n the range, an' they're goin' to brand 'em back of old Peter's this evenin'. There was a cow with an O Bar brand on her, followed 'em all the way down, bellerin' an' makin' a big fuss, an' they can't get rid of her. They give me a half a dollar to drive her back, but she turned so quick I couldn't do nothin' with her, so I thought I'd just let 'em take care of her themselves."

"Are you sure about that brand?" asked Hope quickly.

"Sure as anything," replied the boy. "Why?"

"I think you must be mistaken," she told him. "For it would be very queer if one of my father's cows should be following a stray maverick up to old Peter's place."

"I'll tell you something," whispered the boy, leaning toward her. "They wasn't yearlings at all, they was bringin' in, only big calves."

Her face darkened savagely. "Come," she exclaimed, "I'm going to see for myself!"

"Tattle-tale!" cried the sweet-voiced twin. "Now you'll get us into a scrape for tellin'. I'll lick you for this!"

The girl turned her horse sharply about, stopped it short, facing them fiercely.

"You coward!" she exclaimed. "That child didn't know what he was telling! He's honest. If either of you touch him, or say one unkind word to him about this, I'll make you smart for it!"

"I didn't mean nothin'," declared the soft-voiced twin suavely.

"Well, I guess you didn't if you know what's good for you!" she exclaimed, still angry. "Now what are you going to do about it, go home like babies, or stand by me and do what I tell you?"

"You bet I'll stand by you!" roared Dave.

"I reckon you're our captain, ain't you?" said the other sweetly.

"I'm a scout, I am!" exclaimed the boy, Ned, riding close beside her.

She mused for a moment with darkening eyes, putting her elbow upon the saddle's horn and resting her chin in the hollow of her hand.

"It's all right," she said at length deliberately. "Ned will show you where the cow is, and you boys drive it up to old Peter's corral just as quickly as you can ride. Don't let anyone see you. When you have done that, go up to the school-house and wait there for me. Now hurry, and don't let anyone see you drive in that cow. Go around this other side of old Peter's."

She motioned her hand for them to go, and waited until they were out of sight, then rode on to the school coulee which led into old Peter's basin. It was a long, roundabout way, but her horse covered the ground rapidly.

From the hill behind the school-house she saw Livingston driving back to his ranch. She stood out in full relief against the green hillside, and if he had glanced in that direction must surely have seen her. From that distance she could not tell if he had done so or not. She wondered what he would think if he saw her there alone. Then to get sooner out of sight she ran her horse at full speed up the school coulee toward old Peter's basin.

Livingston saw her quite plainly; from that distance there was no mistaking her. Then he proceeded to do a very unwise thing. He put his horses to their full speed, reached his stables in a few moments, threw his saddle on his best horse and set out in the direction the girl had taken.

Hope made her way quickly up to the top of the divide, then skirmished from brush patch to brush patch, keeping well out of sight until she reached the brush-covered entrance of Peter's basin. There she had a plain view of the small cabin, the rude stable, and corral, without herself being observed by the occupants of the place, and there she settled herself to wait the appearance of the cow, whose queer actions had been reviewed to her.

It was difficult to believe that she was actually in the midst of cattle thieves, though the suspicion had more than once crossed her mind.

She held that class of men in the utmost loathing, and felt herself to be, now, in the actual discovery of the crime, a righteous instrument in the arm of justice.

The unmistakable figure of Long Bill loafed serenely in the doorway; old Peter hobbled about, in and out of the house, while back near the corral a man was carrying an armful of wood. This man the girl watched with particular interest. He took the sticks to one side of the corral, and getting down upon his knees proceeded to arrange them on the ground in methodical order, into the shape of a small pyramid. That done to his satisfaction, he lounged back to the cabin and took a seat beside Long Bill in the doorway.

Presently all three men went back to the corral, and looked over the rails at several small creatures which were running about the enclosure.

"Them ain't bad-lookin' fellers," Long Bill was saying.

Hope, from her position in the brush, tried to imagine what they were talking about, for the distance was too great to carry the sound of their voices.

"I reckon we might as well git 'em branded an' have it over with," suggested Shorty Smith, the third man of the party.

"I reckon we might as well," replied Long Bill. Old Peter shook his head doubtfully.

"Go ahead," he grunted. "But remember I don't know nothin' about these here calves! You're just usin' my corral here to-day, an' the devil keep your skins if you git caught!"

"Oh, I don't know!" drawled Shorty Smith.

"Well, I know!" roared the old man. "If you can't take my advice an' put this here thing off till after dark you kin take the consequences. Anybody's likely to ride along here, an' I'd like to know what kind of a yarn you'd have to tell!"

"Now you know them calves 're yourn," drawled Shorty Smith, in an aggravating tone, as he climbed up and seated himself on the top pole of the corral. "You know them 're yourn, every blame one, an' their mothers 're back in the hills there!"

"Your cows all had twins, so you picked out these here ones to wean 'em, if anybody should ask," said Long Bill, continuing the sport.

The old man uttered a string of oaths.

"Not much you don't pan 'em off onto me!" he exclaimed. "My cows ain't havin' twins this year!"

"Some of Harris' has got triplets," mused Shorty Smith, at which Long Bill laughed, exclaiming:

"Been lary ever since them stock-inspectors was up here last fall, ain't you? Before that some o' your cows had a half a dozen calves. I should 'a' thought you had more grit'n that, Peter!"

The old man cursed some more. Shorty Smith jumped down from his high perch and fetched a long, slender rod of iron from between two logs of the cow-shed.

"Might as well git down to business," he said as he threw the branding iron on the ground beside the symmetrical pyramid of fire-wood, which he proceeded to ignite.

"Let up, old man," growled Long Bill, "I'll take the blame o' the whole concern an' you ken rake in your share in the fall without any interference whatsomever."

"Don't git scared, Peter, you ain't got long to live on this here planet, nohow, so you can finish your days in peace. If there's any time to be served we'll do it for you," drawled Shorty.

"That's what I call a mighty generous proposition," remarked Long Bill, as he coiled up his rope. "We'll just git the orniments on these innocent creatures an' shut 'em up in the shed fer a spell."

"Yes, yes! Git the job over with if you ain't goin' to wait till after sundown," exclaimed old Peter nervously.

They set to work at once, roping, throwing, and putting a running brand on the frightened calves. As each one was finished to the satisfaction of the operator it was put into the cow-shed nearby—a rude sort of stable, where it was turned loose and the door securely fastened on the outside with a large wooden peg.

They had been working industriously for perhaps half an hour when old Peter glanced up from the calf upon which he was sitting and encountered Hope Hathaway's quiet eyes watching them interestedly. She stood beside the cow-shed but a few feet away, and held her horse by the bridle.

"Good God!" screamed the old man, nearly losing his balance. "Where did you come from?"

The other men, whose backs were toward her, glanced about quickly, then proceeded in well assumed unconcern with the work upon which they were engaged.

"I hope I'm not intruding," said the girl.

"Not at all," replied Shorty Smith politely. "It ain't often we're favored by the company of wimmen folks."

"Those are fine-looking calves you've got there," observed the girl.

"Pretty fair," replied Shorty Smith, assisting the animal to its feet.

The visitor stepped to one side while he dragged it into the shed and closed the door, fastening it with the peg. Then Long Bill proceeded to throw another victim with as much coolness as though Hope had not been there with her quiet eyes taking in every detail.

Old Peter had not uttered a word since his first involuntary exclamation, and though visibly agitated, proceeded in a mechanical manner to assist with the branding, but he kept his head down and his eyes obstinately averted from the girl's.

Nearly a dozen had been branded, and only one, besides the last victim already thrown to the ground, remained in the corral.

Hope's whole attention was apparently taken up with the branding, which she watched with great interest. Old Peter gradually regained his equilibrium, while Long Bill and Shorty Smith had begun to congratulate themselves that their spectator was most innocent and harmless. Yet as Hope moved quietly back to her position beside the rude stable building she not only observed the three men intent upon the branding, but noted the approach of a large cow which had appeared from the right-hand coulee about the time she left her hiding-place in the brush.

If the men had not been so busy they would undoubtedly have seen this particular cow coming on steadily toward the corral, now but a rod distant. They would have noticed, too, the girl's hand leave her side like a flash and remove the large, smooth peg from where Shorty Smith had hastily inserted it in the building. They would have seen the stable door open slowly by its own weight, and then the peg quickly replaced. What they did notice was that Miss Hathaway came very near to them, so close that she leaned over old Peter's shoulders to observe the smoking, steaming operation.

For a moment she stood there quietly, then all at once exclaimed in some surprise:

"Why, your calves are all out!" Instantly the greatest consternation reigned, then old Peter hobbled to his feet with an oath.

"Every blamed one," said Shorty Smith. "How 'n blazes did that happen?"

"I reckon you didn't put that peg in right," drawled Long Bill.

"Look!" screamed old Peter, pointing at the large cow that had come nearer and had picked out from the assortment of calves one of which it claimed absolute possession. It was at this unfortunate moment that Livingston, quite unobserved, rode into Peter's basin.

"I'll help you drive them in," volunteered Hope, instantly mounting her horse and riding into their midst. Then a queer thing followed. Old Peter, with a cat-like motion, sprang toward her and covered her with a six-shooter.

"Git off'n my place, you she-devil!" he cried, his face livid with rage and fear.

"Good God, don't shoot, you fool!" cried Shorty Smith, while Long Bill made a stride toward the frenzied old man.

Livingston's heart stood still. He was some distance away and, as usual, unarmed. For an instant he stopped short, paralyzed by the sight. Then the girl wheeled her horse suddenly about as if to obey the command. As she did so a report rang out and old Peter, with the flesh ripped from wrist to elbow, rolled over in a convulsed heap. It was all so sudden that it seemed unreal. Hope sat on her quivering horse, motionless, serene, holding in her hand a smoking revolver.

Long Bill and his companion stood like statues, dumfounded for the instant, but Livingston, with a bound, was at the girl's side, his face white, his whole being shaken.

"Thank God!" he cried in great tenderness. "You are all right!"

"What made you come here?" she exclaimed in sudden nervousness, which sounded more like impatience.

Then their eyes met. Her own softened, then dropped, until they rested upon the gun in her hand. A flush rose to her face and her heart beat strangely, for in his eyes she had seen the undisguised love of a great, true soul. For an instant she was filled with the wild intoxication of it, then the present situation, which might now involve him, returned to her with all its seriousness. The danger must be averted at once, she decided, before he learned the actual truth.

"Poor old man!" she exclaimed. Then turned to Long Bill and his companion. "I'm awfully sorry I had to hurt him, but he actually made me nervous! I had an idea he was crazy, but I never believed he was perfectly mad. He ought to be watched constantly and all dangerous weapons kept away from him. Didn't you know he was dangerous?"

Shorty Smith suddenly rose to meet the situation.

"I knowed he was crazy," he said, "but I didn't know he was as plumb locoed as that."

"Well, he's out of business for awhile," remarked the girl. "You boys better bandage up his arm and carry him into the house. I'll send over old Mother White Blanket when I get back. I guess you can get in the calves by yourselves all right, for really I feel very shaken and I think I'll go right home. You'll go with me, won't you, Mr. Livingston. But the poor old crazy man! You boys will take good care of him, won't you—and let me know if I can be of any assistance."

"Well, what do yo' think?" asked Shorty Smith, as Hope and her companion disappeared from the basin.

"What'd I think?" exclaimed Long Bill. "I think we've been pretty badly done!"

"Oh, I don't know," drawled Shorty Smith, "I reckon she ain't goin' to say nothin' about me!"