“He come back, Colonel!” yelled one, from afar.
“It’s that sly Old Baldy, he means!” called a second.
“Thar he is, headin’ for the corral right now!” whooped the third, not wanting to be left entirely out of the game.
“An’ our brand’s been burned off, sure,” declared the leader, as he reached the steps; “but thar, ye don’t seem to be s’prised a heap. Boys, it ain’t no news after all, we’re slinging. Look at Frank grin; it’s a cinch he’s been ahead of us!”
Of course, after that, Frank had to own up, and relate the story of how Old Baldy had made the lame wolf take to cover, and held him there until help came.
“Bully for Old Baldy! He’s the same game chap as before he was took!” exclaimed Jeff Davis; and then led his comrades in a series of cheers for the returned wanderer who had finally made his way home, after adventures which might never be more than guessed at.
An exciting debate followed; but when all had given their opinion it was found that suspicion centred on Pedro Mendoza as the guilty one. This Mexican had long been a thorn in the flesh of the ranchers of Arizona. He led a band of bold, lawless spirits who seemed able to appear and vanish in a manner that baffled all search.
As a rule the rustlers had not annoyed the Circle
Ranch people, confining their operations to ranges more distant. Nevertheless, the stockmen had grumbled considerably about the way these frequent outrages took away from the profits of raising cattle; and, only for the petty jealousies between them, they must have united long ago in a determined effort to rid the country, once and for all, of such a bad character as Mendoza.
Colonel Haywood and his foreman had often talked the matter over. They had even laid out a plan of campaign to be followed in case they awoke some morning to find that the rustlers had visited the herds of Circle Ranch.