The sheep were bunched so tightly around the mouth of the ca?on that Scott had to make quite a circle to reach the rim of the cliffs. He then followed the edge of the cliffs back to the ca?on which cut back into the plateau like the mouth of a great chute fringed along the sides with aspen. The bottom of it was fairly smooth at the upper end and quite wide, narrowing rapidly and becoming rougher till it ended in the knife-like cut where it broke through the face of the cliff. There it dropped sheer to the valley three hundred feet below.

A queer sight met Scott’s astonished gaze when he peered through the screen of aspen down into the little triangular amphitheater. He had no idea of secrecy when he came down there. He had merely wanted to see what was going on and he had walked openly across the bench. It was only the presence of the sheep which had prevented him from walking straight into the mouth of the ca?on. But now that he found himself so fortunately located and found the game so well worth watching he nestled quietly down in his screen of aspens and decided to lay low.

He knew now why there were no herders with the sheep. Six men were working desperately building a fence across the mouth of the ca?on. Five of them were sheep herders and the sixth was Heth. They were cutting posts from the aspen trees, driving them rather close together, and weaving the tops of the trees between them to form a solid barricade. They had evidently been at the work for some time for the fence was more than two thirds completed. Even then Scott did not understand the significance of it all. Why should they be building a fence across there? There did not seem to be any more reason why the sheep should go down there than over the edge of the cliffs anywhere else.

The voices of the workers floated up to him and he could hear distinctly what they said. It was not long until he heard something which enlightened him on the purpose of the fence.

“This here cache was some idea, Dugan,” exclaimed one of the herders who was cutting some brush almost directly under Scott on the side of the ca?on.

“You bet,” one of the others answered admiringly. “Old Jed couldn’t find his own sheep down in here.”

So that was the idea. That was the reason all the sheep had been driven down to the cliffs and why no attempt had been made to run them over into Baxter’s district or back out the chute. They were going to hide the extras in those ca?ons till the recount was over and then let them out to graze with the bunch once more. It was a clever idea and would undoubtedly have worked if Scott had not stumbled onto it.

“The question is now,” said one of the herders, “can we get enough of them in here? What do you think about it, Dugan?”

Heth answered the question. “Sure we can get them in here. We put twenty five hundred in the other pen and this one is a little larger.”

So they already had another ca?on fenced and filled. And Heth was in charge of the work. There was no longer any question of how the sheep got into the forest. Heth had let them in. Slowly Scott began to piece together the evidence. How did they know that Heth and not himself was going to count those sheep? Then he remembered how Heth had delayed things that morning and how relieved he had seemed when the telephone rang reporting the fire. And Heth had sent him on the wrong trail purposely, so that he would have time to get in all the sheep and have them well away from the chute before Scott could get back.

There his train of evidence broke for a second. Who else was in the game? How did Heth know that fire would be so promptly reported? Then he recalled that it was one of Jed Clark’s men whom Baxter had caught setting an apparently purposeless fire on that very morning. He himself had seen the traces of it. It was certainly a deep laid plot. He saw now how the cards had been stacked against him by a cunning hand and he knew now why he had taken such a violent dislike to Heth.

He wondered if his hunch to distrust Dawson was as reliable. There was certainly no evidence against him as yet. The fire had been reported to him honestly enough by the lookout and he had simply given the necessary orders. It was perfectly natural that he should have sent Scott to look after the fire and left a sheep man to look after the sheep. Moreover, Dawson was in charge of Baxter’s district also. There never had been any trouble over there and Baxter thought he was all right. The ranger also stood very high in the judgment of the supervisor, who had had years of opportunity to size him up. No, he must have been mistaken about Dawson, but he chuckled to think how well he had judged Heth.

These discoveries did not make him like Heth any better but he certainly admired his nerve. How did he know that Dawson or some of the others would not drop in there to inspect the counting of the sheep? Yes, it had certainly taken plenty of nerve and Heth seemed to have it.

In the meanwhile, the fence building was progressing rapidly. When they came to the side of the ca?on for posts or brush Scott caught an occasional remark, but the work kept them out too far most of the time. From what little he did hear he knew that they considered their plan a big success and a tremendous joke on the greenhorn patrolman from the East.

At last the fence was completed all except a narrow opening which was to serve as a gate. There was nothing more to do but drive in the sheep. The herders looked with satisfaction on their work and rested from their exertion while Heth gave the fence a final inspection. He pronounced it good and ordered them to bring in the sheep. Scott was wondering what had become of the horse he had been trailing when Heth led him out of a clump of aspen near the bottom of the ca?on. He passed almost directly under Scott and a herder who had come over there to get a coat which he had laid aside called to him, “Where is the greenhorn now, Dugan?”

Scott started at that name addressed directly to Heth. He had heard them speak to Dugan before and he had heard Heth answer to it, but he had thought that Heth was simply volunteering an answer to a question addressed to another man. Now there could be no question about it; there was no one else there. Even the man’s name was a fake. No wonder Baxter had never heard of him.

Scott itched to jump down there on them and show them where he was, but he realized now that it would be neither safe nor politic. He must let this thing go till he had counted the sheep out through the chute. Then would be the time to disclose his discovery. He could not prove anything now. He had no witnesses to what he had heard and there was no regulation to prevent the herders from penning some of their sheep up in the mouth of the ca?on if they wanted to do so. He must wait.

Dugan’s answer made him chuckle. “He’s over getting some pointers from Baxter on estimating bands of sheep.”

“He’ll go back and take some more when he gets through counting ours to-morrow,” the herder laughed.

Dugan rode through the gate and over to one side of the fence. “Drive them in now, boys,” he called. “I saw Dawson............