"I guess that's so," McHale agreed. "But if we run up on 'em——"
He paused abruptly. Out of the distance came the unmistakable sound of a blast, closely followed by a second.
"Another dam!" Casey exclaimed. "That's Oscar's, or Wyndham's. Our own medicine, sure enough!"
"If I can put a gunsight on to one of them fellers I'll fix him so's he won't hold medicine nohow," said McHale savagely. "No use followin' the river. They'll quit it now, and strike for somewheres. Let's take a chance and hike out sorter southeast. It's as good as any other way."
They struck southeast at a steady jog, angling away from the river. The night was absolutely cloudless; the moon, near the full, bathed the landscape in a flood of white light which threw objects into startling relief, but intensified the shadows. Beneath it the land slumbered in a silence broken only by the soft drumming of hoofs. But for an occasional small band of cattle lying quietly on the slopes, it seemed devoid of life.
They rode in silence, but with eyes and ears keenly alert. At the top of each rise they paused to search the surrounding country. Now and then they drew up to listen. But their watchfulness availed nothing.
"Looks like we're out o'luck," McHale observed finally.
"Looks that way," Casey admitted. "All the same, we'll keep going."
"If we happen across 'em," McHale continued, "I s'pose we round 'em up?"
"Of course. But they may take some rounding."