Brand Blotters

A maze of cañons, hopelessly lost in the hill tangle into which they had

plunged, led deviously to a twisting pass, through which they defiled, to

drop into a vista of rolling waves of forest-clad hills. Among these wound

countless hidden gulches, known only to those who rode from out them on

nefarious night errands.

The ranger noted every landmark, and catalogued in his mind's map every

gorge and peak; from what he saw, he guessed much of which he could not be

sure. It would be hard to say when his suspicions first became aroused.

But as they rode, without stopping, through what he knew must be

Powderhorn Pass, as the men about him quietly grouped themselves so as to

cut off any escape he might attempt, as they dropped farther and farther

into the meshes of that forest-crowned net which he knew to be the Roaring

Fork country, he did not need to be told he was in the power of MacQueen's

gang.

Yet he gave no sign of what he knew. As daylight came, so that they could

see each other distinctly, his face showed no shadow of doubt. It was his

cue to be a simple victim of credulity, and he played it to the finish.

Without warning, through a narrow gulch which might have been sought in

vain for ten years by a stranger, they passed into the rim of a

bowl-shaped valley. Timber covered it from edge to edge, but over to the

left a keen eye could see a thinning of the foliage. Toward this they

went, following the sidehill and gradually dipping down through heavy

underbrush. Before him the officer of rangers saw daylight, and presently

a corral, low roofs, and grazing horses.

"Looks like some one lives here," he remarked amiably.

They were already riding into the open. In front of one of the log cabins

the man who had called himself Flatray swung from his saddle.

"Better 'light, lieutenant," he suggested carelessly. "We'll eat breakfast

here."

"Don't care if we do. I could eat a leather mail sack, I'm that hungry,"

the ranger answered, as he, too, descended.

His guide was looking at him with an expression of open, malevolent

triumph. He could scarce keep it back long enough to get the effect he

wanted.

"Yes, we'll eat breakfast here--and dinner, and supper, and breakfast

to-morrow, and then about two more breakfasts."

"I reckon we'll be too busy to sit around here," laughed his prisoner.

The other ignored his comment. "And after that, it ain't likely you'll do

much more eating."