For the Elk Mountain Cattle Company was not returning the promised dividends to those who had put their money into it. Hal Nearing, once lieutenant governor and United States senator from his state, was resourceful in promises, ready in explanations. Evil days had come upon the cattle business of the inter-mountain range, he said. Summer droughts for two years running, the encroachments of homesteaders, of sheepmen; the incursions of rustlers, the toll of wolves, bears and mountain lions—all these reasons Nearing advanced with good foundation of argument, to account for the lack of profits.
There was much to his explanation of conditions, so much, in fact, that a deputation of stockholders had returned from an investigation a year before the time you first heard of Hal Nearing and his enterprise through this tale, with a report bearing him out in every particular. While this investigation sufficed to stay the threatened receivership and ousting of President Nearing, it had not quieted doubts and suspicions in all quarters, nor revived the falling hopes of many who had their little fortunes bound up in the company's failure or success.
Among these latter was Edgar Barrett, late seaman in the United States navy, now on his way with Dan Gustin to the headquarters of the Diamond Tail ranch. Barrett's father had been an under secretary of the navy at the period of Nearing's senatorial splurge. In the belief that he was being peculiarly favored, Barrett had put his lifetime winnings into Nearing's cattle company, along with many other friends of the sena-
