"Brand every hoof you can get your rope on and run 'em off. We'll clean those fellers out, and we'll clean 'em quick!"
"I'm agreeable," and Kansas Ed looked it, "but you can't trust any of the outfit here; they wouldn't rustle from Ben. I'll have to have outside help."
"You can get that in Las Rubertas. There isn't a greaser in the place that isn't layin' for him. The Ospinos ought to be good hombres for this job."
"They're handy with a brandin'-iron all right," his foreman agreed; "I'll sound 'em."
The same day that Juan Ospino went into the employ of Spiser, Ben met him on the range, though the meeting was not of Ospino's choosing.
"What you huntin', Ospino?"
"Strays" was the answer, with a touch of malice.
"Strays?" Ben looked at him hard. "Go back to your boss, Ospino, and tell him that there are no strays on Blakely's range—that we ride it all the time, and," significantly, "we always keep our rifles where we can get at 'em easy."
