"The feed's good yet—never saw it better this time of the year."
"Likely they've gone up one of the big draws off the pass," Angus suggested.
"Well, I wish you'd tell me which. I've rode every draw for ten miles each way, and durn' if I can find a hoof."
This was serious. It was up to them to find those steers before the snow came. Angus had no mind to see them come staggering in in mid-winter, mere racks of bones; and apart from that he had counted on the proceeds of their sale to pay Jean's expenses and some of the interest on Braden's mortgage. Accordingly, he turned himself loose on the range with Dave and Turkey. They spent the better part of a week in the saddle and rode half a dozen ponies to a show-down, but of the missing stock they found never a trace.
"I'll bet somebody's rustled them," Turkey decided.
"Bosh!" said Angus.
"If you're such a darn' wise gazabo, why don't you find 'em?" Turkey retorted. "What do you think, Dave?"
"Don't know," said Rennie. "Blamed if it don't look like it."
"Rustled—nothing!" Angus exclaimed contemptuously. "There aren't any rustlers here."
"There never was no rustlers no place till folks began to miss stock," Rennie pointed out mildly.