“There’s where you crept up on the deer, and fired,” Frank remarked, pointing.
“Yes, and I can follow the track I took into the timber, every foot of it,” Bob called back over his shoulder; for in his eagerness he was outstripping his chum, though Frank was content to
have it so. “But seeing that I cut up the deer, as you said, I couldn’t have lost the knife beforehand, that’s sure!”
“Well, there you are; and I can see the trees at the foot of which the buck dropped. Hold your breath now, Bob, and wish hard you’re going to find the lost blade.”
The Kentucky lad drew his big black horse up sharply, and with a bound was out of the saddle. Frank, who had also come to a sudden stop, saw him glance around eagerly, while a look of bitter disappointment flashed across his face.
“Your dream—remember that it was around in the crotch of the tree you saw it, Bob! Feel there, and see!” cried Frank.
The other hastened to do so. Immediately a yell broke from his lips, and Frank saw him bring forth a knife that had been lodged in the crotch.
“Found!” shouted Bob, beginning to dance around the place in his great satisfaction. “Now after this I’m going to believe there may be something in dreams, aren’t you, Frank?”
“Shucks!” laughed the other, “chances are you just partly remembered putting it up there, and the fact appealed to you while you slept, that’s all. If a small part of the silly dreams I’ve had ever came true, I’d be in hot water all the time. Where one happens to hit the mark, fifty fall down. But I’m glad you’ve got that knife again.”
The Fall round-up was over, and had been a great success. Circle Ranch had done far better than any year since it was started, and could easily be set down as the banner cattle raising combination in the whole State. Then, besides, there was the wonderful success that had resulted from the effort to rid the community of Mendoza, the rustler. From now on peace would hang over the cattle ranches from the Grand Canyon of the Colorado down to the Mexican border.