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 would mount the last barrier for a look at the animals.

It was then late afternoon, the day obscure as early evening. Simpson mounted the high rail fence, which was overrun by Virginia creeper, rich autumnal tints enlivening here and there its dark-green leaves. Just in front of him one of the square windows stood open, its wooden shutter fastened back by a leather ear. He stood on the heap of steaming offal along the stable wall and peered within.

The stable, spacious beyond even its outward indica tion, was gloomy and dark. A row of stalls ran down each side, a wide aisle in the center. No fewer than twenty horses were stabled there, and the one nearest the window through which Simpson peered bore on its left shoulder the Block E brand.

So this was the place; he was looking at the stolen horses, left there by those audacious rascals to eat their hay and recuperate after the hard drive without even a guard. But the thieves must be surrounded by many vigilant friends to carry them the alarm of every suspicious stranger's approach. Simpson marvelled how he had passed through that long stretch of woods without being seen. That he had accomplished it he was certain, otherwise he never could have come in sight of that place unchallenged.

Now he was there, and the question was, what next? Before he could answer that there was the sudden break of running horses toward the front of the place. More horses were arriving, and Simpson found himself in a very likely situation for being caught. He looked around for a place to hide, the nearest thing offering conceal-