“Devil’s Hole is the only trail?” inquired Sanderson.

Carter nodded.  The others confirmed the nod.  But Carter’s desire for an early start the next morning was denied.  Bud and Sogun were on guard duty on the morning shift, with the other men at breakfast, when a dozen horsemen appeared from the morning haze westward and headed directly for the camp fire.

“Visitors,” announced Soapy, who was first to see the riders.

The Double A men got to their feet to receive the strangers.  Sanderson stepped out from the group slightly, and the horsemen came to a halt near him.  A big man, plainly the leader of the strangers, dismounted and approached Sanderson.

The man radiated authority.  There was a belligerent gleam in his eyes as he looked Sanderson over, an inspection that caused Sanderson’s face to redden, so insolent was it.  Behind him the big man’s companions watched, their faces expressionless, their eyes alert.

“Who’s runnin’ this outfit?” demanded the man.

“You’re talkin’ at the boss,” said Sanderson.

“I’m the sheriff of Colfax County,” said the other, shortly.  “There’s been a complaint made about you.  Bill Lester, of the Bar X, says you’ve been pickin’ up his cattle, crossin’ his range, yesterday.”

This incident had happened before, both to Sanderson and to Carter.  They had insisted on the right of inspection themselves, when strange herds had been driven through their ranges.

“We want to look your stock over,” said the sheriff.

The request was reasonable, and Sanderson smiled.

“That’s goin’ to hold us up a spell,” he returned; “an’ we was figurin’ on makin’ Devil’s Hole before dark.  Hop in an’ do your inspectin’.”

The big man motioned to his followers and the latter spurred to the herd, the other being the last to leave the camp fire.

For two hours the strangers threaded and weaved their horses through the mass of cattle, while Sanderson and his men, impatient to begin the morning drive, rode around the outskirts and watched them.

“They’re takin’ a mighty good look,” commented Carter at the end of the two hours.

Sanderson’s face was set in a frown; he saw that the men were working very slowly, and were conferring together longer than seemed necessary.

At the end of three hours Carter spoke to Sanderson, his voice hoarse with rage: 

“They’re holdin’ us up purposely.  I’ll be damned if I’m goin’ to stand for it!”

“Easy there!” cautioned Sanderson.  “I’ve never seen a sheriff that was long on speed.  They’ll be showin’ their hand pretty soon.”

Half an hour later the sheriff spurred his horse out of the press and approached Sanderson.  His face was grave.  His men rode up also, and halted their horses near him.  The Double A men had advanced and stood behind Sanderson and Carter.

“There’s somethin’ wrong here!” he declared, scowling at Sanderson.  “It ain’t the first time this dodge has been worked.  A man gets up a brand that’s mighty like the brand on the range he’s goin’ to drive through, an’ he picks up cattle an’ claims they’re his.  You claim your brand is the Double A.”  He dismounted and with a branch of chaparral drew a design in the sand.