Ferguson looked quizzically at him. "How many cattle you missin'?" he questioned.
Stafford banged a fist heavily down upon his desk top. "We're twenty calves short on the tally," he declared, "an' half a dozen cows. We ain't got to the steers yet, but I'm expectin' to find them short too."
Ferguson drew a deep breath. The number of cattle missing tallied exactly with the number he had seen in the basin down the river. A glint of triumph lighted his eyes, but he looked down upon Stafford, drawling:
"You been doin' the tallyin'?"
"Yes."
Ferguson was now smiling grimly.
"Where's your range boss?" he questioned.
"The boys say he rode over to the river lookin' for strays. Sent word that he'd be in to-morrow. But I don't see what he's got to do——"
"No," returned Ferguson, "of course. You say them cattle was rustled last night?"
"Yes." Stafford banged his fist down with a positiveness that left no doubt of his knowledge.