Len Molick turned with a start. Either he had not heard Dave approach, or he had pretended ignorance.
"Well, what do yon want?" demanded the surly bully.
"Oh, out after strays, as you are," said Dave, coolly. "Guess your cattle and ours have struck up an acquaintance," he added, with assumed cheerfulness.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean they're traveling along together just as if they belonged to the same outfit."
"Huh! I can't help it, can I, if your cows tag along with our strays?" demanded Len with a sneer.
"That's what I'm here for—to help prevent it," Dave went on, and his voice was a trifle sharp. "The Bar U ranch can't afford to lose any strays these days," he resumed. "The Carson outfit needs all it can get, and, as representative of the Carson interests I'll just cut out those strays of ours, Len, and head them the other way."
"Huh! What right have you got to do it?"
"What right? Why my father sent me to gather up our strays. I saw some of them up here yesterday."
"Your father?" The sneer in Len's voice was unmistakable.