Scott walked slowly back to the cabin thinking of the tremendous pow wow there would be when he sprung his discoveries the next day. He felt sure that neither the supervisor nor any one else outside of the ring, unless it was the small ranchers who had been using free range, had ever suspected Dawson. Every one knew that Jed Clark would beat any one he could, but with Dawson it would be a different matter. He had the reputation, both in the service and outside for sterling honesty and for strict enforcement of the regulations. He would have felt sorry for him if he had not overheard his cool schemes that night for getting rid of the “Eastern dude.” Now he looked forward with pleasure to the stir his disclosure would make.

He approached the cabin as he had left it by way of the corral and the wood pile, for he thought possibly Dawson had stopped there again on the way home. He glanced quickly around the cabin. There was no one there, but there was a piece of paper lying on the table in a conspicuous place near the lamp. It was a scribbled note from Dawson.

Dropped in but did not have time to wait for you. We’ll have the recount to-morrow morning about ten o’clock. Ramsey is coming up and I’ll be down there. Probably Jed will be up to count for his side. A recount is rather a serious matter and I hope for the good of the Service that you have not made any mistake.
Hastily,
DAWSON

“I hope you have not made any mistake,” Scott repeated with a grin. “That’s a pretty slick little piece of sarcasm and I’ll bet he grinned when he wrote it, but if he knew what I know he would have made it a prayer that I had made a mistake.”

In order to have his records complete he finished up his daily diary report with a detailed account of the evening’s interview. It was one o’clock when he blew out the light and rolled into bed. He was so tired with his long day’s work that he went to sleep before he had planned out the details for the next day as he had intended.

However, he did not oversleep himself the next morning. He finished breakfast early and put the cabin in apple pie order in case he should have any official visitors before the recount. He had an idea that no one would have much time for the inspection of cabins after that.

He determined to ride out and see that the herders were bringing up the sheep according to his orders. He found Jed ready to go as usual and was soon trotting along gayly through the forest. The sun was shining brightly and his mood was in keeping with the day. He felt that his triumph was sure and he had no misgivings. He had not gone very far when he ran onto one of the bands headed for the chute.

It was feeding time for the sheep and they were in no hurry to travel. They moved by jerks, those in front hanging back till they were pushed on by those behind. Then they would trot a little way and stop to eat once more. Those in the center kept trying to push out to the sides where they could find some grass, and it kept the herder and the dog both busy to keep them moving.

Scott was watching with interest as the parade passed him when the herder called to him. “Too late to try to count ’em now, sonny. You ought to have done that before you ordered the recount.”

“Don’t look as big as it did,” Scott replied, frowning at the band and trying to look worried.

“It’ll look smaller yet when the tail end of it goes through that chute this morning,” the herder jeered.

“Well, I should worry,” Scott retorted, “Dawson, Ramsey and Jed will be there to do the counting at ten o’clock. Are the others coming?”

“You bet, and crazy to get there. You won’t have a very hard time counting yourself when this thing is over.”

“Think not?” Scott replied teasingly, and he rode back toward the chute, leaving the herder cursing him for a conceited upstart who would soon get a proper calling down. He stopped in at the cabin to get his tally register, and then rode on down to the chute to see that all was in readiness there. It was still an hour and a half before the time set for the recount and Scott put in the time examining the fence on either side of the chute to make sure that there were no holes.

He had not gone far along the fence on the west side of the chute when he noticed something which aroused his curiosity. All the ground between two of the posts had been trampled up by sheep. Of course the sheep had been crowded pretty close up to the fence on both sides at the time of the counting, but this was different. There had been no rain since the sheep came in and the distinct, continuous trail could be plainly seen between the two posts. The ground was not trampled up that way between any of the other posts. Further examination showed that one of the posts was loose and that all wires had been cut at that point and renailed.

This was a new piece of evidence which Scott had almost missed. Evidently Dugan had been afraid that Scott would get back from that fake fire before he had time to get all the sheep through the chute and had opened up that hole in the fence to hurry things along. He had a pretty clear idea now of the plan the stockmen had used and just how they had worked it. He recognized now that Dawson was the brains of the whole ring and that it was his smooth craft which had made it work. No detail which could be foreseen had been overlooked.

There was a rattling of loose stones down the ca?on trail and the supervisor appeared. He greeted Scott cordially. “You seem to have rounded up these fellows in pretty quick time,” he remarked looking keenly at Scott.

“Yes,” Scott replied modestly, “I was lucky enough to stumble onto it.”

“I hope for your own sake and that of the service that you are not mistaken in your estimate. It takes a good deal of experience to estimate sheep accurately in the open.”

“That is the reason I had Baxter do it for me,” Scott replied.

“Oh,” exclaimed Mr. Ramsey, evidently relieved, “he knows if any one does. When did you get him to do it?”

“The day after the sheep came in. I tried to count them and could not do it, but when I saw the bands in his district they looked so much smaller than mine that I asked him to come over and estimate them.”

Just then Dawson rode up. “Well, Burton,” he said when the first greetings were over, “don’t you feel a little nervous?”

“Not in the least,” Scott replied confidently.

“I never knew before,” said the supervisor, “that it was possible to get sheep up those little ca?ons down there.”

“It isn’t,” Scott said quietly, looking straight at Dawson. He thought that he detected a slight start, but he was not sure.

“Then how did they get in?” persisted the supervisor.

“Here is something here that looks rather suspicious,” Scott said, leading the way to the trail through the fence.

Both Dawson and Ramsey examined it carefully. Scott called their attention to the loose post and the cut wires. He watched Dawson closely but could not detect even a trace of worry in his face. The ranger was such a good actor that if Scott had not been positive of his guilt he would have begun to worry himself.

“That is where they went, all right,” Dawson said, “probably ran them in at night.”

Scott was dumfounded for a minute. He had never thought of that. Then an idea occurred to him. “Why didn’t they take them through the chute if they did it at night?” Scott asked. He thought that he had him this time.

“Probably because they did it the night before the count and did not want you to see the tracks in the morning,” Dawson answered.

Scott knew that such was not the case but it was a clever argument. He decided to keep his information till later. He had shown the supervisor how the sheep went in............