Bill Lester, of the Bar X, says you've been pickin' up his cattle, crossin' his range, yesterday." This incident had happened before, both to Sanderson and to Carter.
They had insisted on the right of inspection themselves, when strange herds had been driven through their ranges.
"We want to look your stock over," said the sheriff.
The request was reasonable, and Sanderson smiled.
"That's goin' to hold us up a spell," he returned; "an' we was figurin' on makin' Devil's Hole before dark.

Hop in an' do your inspectin'." The big man motioned to his followers and the latter spurred to the herd, the other being the last to leave the camp fire.
For two hours the strangers threaded and weaved their horses through the mass of cattle, while Sanderson and his men, impatient to begin the morning drive, rode around the outskirts and watched them.
"They're takin' a mighty good look," commented Carter at the end of the two hours.
Sanderson's face was set in a frown; he saw that the men were working very slowly, and were conferring together longer than seemed necessary.
At the end of three hours Carter spoke to Sanderson, his voice hoarse with rage: "They're holdin' us up purposely.

I'll be damned if I'm goin' to stand for it!" "Easy there!" cautioned Sanderson.

"I've never seen a sheriff that was long on speed.

They'll be showin' their hand pretty soon." Half an hour later the sheriff spurred his horse out of the press and approached Sanderson.