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 coverin' a few. I thought I'd better ship before they slip away from me once more."

"Is them them?" Windy jerked his head toward the pens, where Russius Ransom and the two impressed cowhands were roosting on the fence above the cattle, waiting Tom's return and further orders.

"Yes, sir. I'm disappointed in my cars. I ordered them several days ago, but this man failed to send my order in."

"It's all right," the agent announced, turning, hand on his telegraph key. "They'll be set right away for you, Tom."

Windy couldn't get a good breath, the wonder of the situation was so big inside his vest. He pegged along beside Tom down the platform toward the loading pens.

"Well, where's that feller Withers, the one that had a judgment on the note? I thought he was goin' to take them cattle over on the supposed-to-be debt?"

"Yes, sir; Colonel Withers bought my cattle in at the sheriff's sale today. Possession has passed back to me again, however."

"The-e-e hell! Say, where is Withers? Won't he be bustin' along here with a gang of men to take 'em away from you?"

"I don't look for him," said Tom with quiet confidence.

It was from that reply Windy Moore drew his material for the story he began to spread in a few minutes with eager tongue. Tom Laylander, the cow jerry, had killed Cal Withers, and taken possession of