“This is the way you make your brand,” he said, and he pointed out the Double A brand: 

[Illustration:  Double A and Bar X brands.]

“That’s an ‘A’ lookin’ at it straight up an’ from the right side, like this, just reversin’ it.  But when you turn it this way, it’s the Bar X: 

“An’ there’s a bunch of your steers with the brand on them that way.  I’ll have to take charge of the herd until the thing is cleared up!”

Sanderson’s lips took on a straight line; the color left his face.

Here was authority—­that law with which he had unaccountably clashed on several occasions during his stay at the Double A. Yet he knew that—­as on those other occasions—­the law was operating to the benefit of his enemies.

However, he did not now suspect Silverthorn and the others of setting the law upon him.  The Double A men might have been careless with their branding, and it was unfortunate that he had been forced by the closing of the Okar market to drive his cattle over a range upon which were cattle bearing a brand so startlingly similar to his.

His men were silent, watching him with set faces.  He knew they would stand behind him in any trouble that might occur.  And yet he hesitated, for he did not wish to force trouble.

“How many Bar X cattle do you think are in the herd?” he asked.

“Mebbe a hundred—­mebbe more.”

“How long will it take you to get Bill Lester here to prove his stock?”

The big man laughed.  “That’s a question.  Bill left last night for Frisco; I reckon mebbe he’ll be gone a month—­mebbe more.”

The color surged back into Sanderson’s face.  He stiffened.

“An’ you expect to hold my herd here until Lester gets back?” he said, slowly.

“Yep,” said the other, shortly.

“You can’t do it!” declared Sanderson.  “I know the law, an’ you can’t hold a man’s cattle that long without becomin’ liable for damages.”

“We’ll be liable,” grinned the sheriff.  “Before Bill left last night he made out a bond for ninety thousand dollars—­just what your cattle are worth at the market price.  If there’s any damages comin’ to you you’ll get them out of that.”

“It’s a frame-up,” growled Carter, at Sanderson’s side.  “It proves itself.  This guy, Lester, makes out a bond before we’re within two days’ drive of his bailiwick.  He’s had information about us, an’ is plannin’ to hold us up.  You know what for.  Silverthorn an’ the bunch has got a finger in the pie.”

That suspicion had also become a conviction to Sanderson.  And yet, in the person of the sheriff and his men, there was the law blocking his progress toward the money he needed for the irrigation project.

“Do you think one hundred and fifty heads will cover the suspected stock?” he questioned.

“I’d put it at two hundred,” returned the sheriff.

“All right, then,” said Sanderson slowly; “take your men an’ cut out the two hundred you think belong to Lester.  I’ll stop on the way back an’ have it out with you.”