“I don’t believe even a stray wolf or coyote came near, the whole night,” Frank went on. “I was up myself for two hours, keeping watch over the cattle; and once I thought I heard the report of firearms, but it wasn’t repeated; and right now I couldn’t say what it was I caught. Might have been just one of those little rock slides up on the mountain.”
“I’m glad it’s all over,” said Bob.
“Same here,” Frank added. “It’s sure been some strenuous. And that climb over the ridge was the toughest ever. I suppose you’ll believe now what I told you about how cattle can get up, and go some?”
“They’re just great at climbing, that’s what,” the other admitted.
After breakfast the start was made. There was little trouble with the herd now. Reaching level land had apparently brought about a return of their confidence; and it might even be that some of the older steers could scent their customary feeding grounds in the distance.
At any rate they started off, and being once more in their glory while mounted on their ponies, the cowboys proved as active as cats, darting here and there to keep their charges in a compact mass as they headed toward distant Circle Ranch.
It was about two hours later that Bob rode alongside his chum.
“Say, do you suppose that means any trouble for us, Frank?” he demanded; and as the other turned his head to see what the Kentucky boy might be pointing at, he discovered two horsemen heading after them.
Visions of a desperate and vengeful Mendoza had naturally leaped into Bob’s mind, at first seeing these parties. Frank quickly put him at his ease.
“Not by a jugfull, Bob,” he said, cheerfully. “Those fellows are the two men we left behind us in the valley, to guard the rustlers, and keep them quiet. They got out all right, it seems, and found their ponies where they were left.”