The indignant Hi rolled down his sleeves, spat, and glared at Corliss.  “I quit,” he snapped.  “You can hire a new cook.”

Despite his preoccupation Corliss smiled.  “All right, Hi.  Now that you’re out of a job, you might saddle up and ride with us.  We’ll need some one to keep us good-natured, I reckon.”

“Now you’re whistlin’!” said Wingle.  “Got a gun I can use?  I give mine to Sundown.”

“There’s one over in the office on the desk.  But we’re going to push the herd over to the water-hole.  We’re not going there to fight.”

“Huh!  Goin’ to be quiet, eh?  Mebby I better take my knittin’ along to pass the time.”

And Wingle departed toward the office.  Rejoining Corliss they rode with the men to the Knoll.  Bud Shoop nodded gravely as his employer told him of Loring’s occupation of the west bank of the river.  Then the genial Bud rode over to the herd that was bunched in anticipation of just such a contingency as had developed.  “It’s a case of push ’em along easy—­and all night,” he told his men.  “And if any of you boys is out of cartridges there’s plenty in the wagon.”

John Corliss rode with his men.  He told them to cut out any stray Two-Bar-O stock they saw and turn them back.  Toward evening they had the cattle in motion, drifting slowly toward the north.  The sixteen riders, including Corliss and Wingle, spread out and pushed the herd across the afternoon mesas.  The day was hot and there was no water between the Knoll and Sundown’s ranch.  Corliss intended to hold the cattle when within a mile of the water-hole by milling them until daylight.  When they got the smell of water, he knew that he would not be able to hold them longer, nor did he wish to.  He regretted the fact that Chance was running with him, for he knew that Loring’s men, under the circumstances, would shoot the dog if they had opportunity.

Toward evening the outfit drew up in a draw and partook of a hearty supper.  The cattle began to lag as they were urged forward, and Chance was called into requisition to keep after the stragglers.  As the herd was not large,—­in fact, numbered but five hundred,—­it was possible to keep it moving steadily and well bunched, throughout the night.

Within a short mile of the water-hole the riders began to mill the herd.

Bud Shoop, riding up to Corliss, pointed toward the east.  “Reckon we can’t hold ’em much longer, Jack.  They’re crazy dry—­and they smell water.”

“All right, Bud.  Hold ’em for fifteen minutes more.  Then take four of the boys with you and fan it for the road.  You can cache in that draw just north of the water-hole.  About sunup the herd’ll break for water.  Loring’s outfit will be plenty busy on this side, about then.  If he’s got any gunmen handy, they’ll be camped at the ranch.  Chances are that when the cattle stampede a band or two of sheep, he’ll turn his men on us.  That’s your time to ride down and take possession of the ranch.  Most likely you won’t have to draw a gun.”