“They are going out all right,” Scott replied firmly, “if I can find any more than the limit. I have a little grudge of my own to even up.”
They topped a low ridge overlooking a small plateau and Baxter stopped in sudden amazement. “Great guns,” he exclaimed softly as his eye wandered excitedly over a great band of sheep which almost covered the plateau.
“How many?” he asked Scott after a careful estimate.
“Do you mean for me to guess?” Scott asked, “or tell you from my notes how many there are supposed to be?”
“Guess first and look it up afterwards,” Baxter suggested.
“Well, judging from the bands over your way I would say that there were at least two thousand, but none of the bands in this district are supposed to be that large.” He pulled out his memorandum, “The permit calls for fourteen hundred.”
“Gee, but they have their nerve right with them. There are twenty-five hundred in that band if there is one.”
“But where did they come from?” Scott asked in perplexity.
“That’s the question, all right,” Baxter answered thoughtfully. “Possibly another band has gotten mixed up with this one. It is not likely, but we better make sure before we raise a row about it. Where are the other bands?”
“Why not ask the herder?” Scott suggested.
“Because he’ll lie like a trooper, and besides we don’t want to arouse any suspicions yet a while.”
They visited all the bands in the district one after the other and Baxter estimated that each one was carrying from five hundred to twelve hundred more than the permit called for. When they had finished the last examination it was beginning to get dark. The two sat their horses for a moment in silence.
“Wonder how they got in?” Baxter queried.
“I am not so much interested in that right now,” Scott answered “as how to get them out.”
“Well, if I were you I should first call up Dawson, tell him that you have looked over the sheep, feel sure that there are a large number of extras and suggest a recount. Then it will be up to him.”
“You don’t think he has been mixed up in this graft in any way?” Scott asked.
“Who, Dawson? Oh, I hardly think that likely. He is considered one of the best rangers on the forest, has always been very strict in our district and is thoroughly disgusted with the black eye this district has always given the forest. What makes you think he is in it?”