The boy's face was haggard and drawn, his eyes burned sullenly.
"Six head more gone!" he announced defiantly. His look said plainly: "What are you going to say about it? They're gone."
"So you've turned cattle-thief, have you, Barbee?" was what Steve said.
A sickly flush stained Barbee's hollow cheeks.
"No!" he snapped hotly. "I ain't. But——"
He swung on his heel and started to the door. Steve called him back.
"What are you going to do, Barbee?"
"I'm goin' an' get Blenham," said Barbee between his teeth. "I been wantin' him a long time. Now this is his work an' he makes it look like it's mine. I'm goin' an' get him."
"If it is Blenham," Steve offered coldly, "and if you are playing square with me, how does it happen that he can get away with a thing like this? Right under your nose—and you not know? It sounds— You know how it sounds, Barbee."
"I don't know how he does it," growled Barbee. "I don't know how a man could run off a string of cows like that in them mountains an' not leave no tracks. Why, there ain't half-a-dozen places where they could be drove out'n the valley an' through the cliffs, an' I been watchin' every one of them places myself all night an' keepin' the other boys ridin' until they're saddle-weary. An'—an' six head more gone——"