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 every cow-puncher in the Crooked Creek outfit loved Old Bill. To some he was a chum and pal, to others he was a father, and to all he was a friend in times of need.

The following morning before sunup Pony, Long Tom, and Texas Jake started out to do some trailing. They returned about noon greatly excited. They had been successful beyond their fondest hopes. They had taken up the trail of the bunch of cattle that the rustlers had driven off and had followed it for five miles through very rough country, through many draws and canyons, to the headquarters of the rustlers.

That afternoon at about four o'clock the order was given for all the cow-punchers to saddle their horses and to look to their six guns.

"I am sorry, son," said Hank to his nephew, "but I am afraid you will have to come along to hold the horses. We want every man we've got for this enterprise."

"But what is the enterprise, Uncle Hank? What are you going to do?"

"We are going after those men and we are going to get them," returned his uncle.

"What will you do with them when you get them?" inquired Larry doubtfully.

"Well," said Hank, "that's more than I know. It will depend on how well I can control the boys, we