At the time the dozen head had vanished, Old Baldy among them, opinions had differed so widely that nothing was done. Since no trail could be found beyond a certain point the boys had concluded that the quicksand was responsible for the wholesale disappearance. At other times a single cow had been engulfed; and, on the face of it, this theory appeared plausible; though Colonel Haywood had never been fully convinced himself concerning its truth.
But at the time he had been laid up with a broken leg; and as he would wish to be at the head of any expedition formed for the purpose of hunting the shrewd rustlers to their hiding place, it was finally allowed to drop.
But the anger of the Circle Ranch cow punchers only slept. The return of Old Baldy with the mark of a fresh burn on his flank, blotting out the circle that had stamped him as the property of Colonel Haywood, was the match that once more started the smouldering blaze.
There was more or less excited talk in the bunk-house that night concerning the necessity for some prompt action with regard to ridding the country of the rustlers who had so long had things their own way.
Even the stockman seemed to have the subject on his mind, for as he sat with the two boys and Bart Heminway on the piazza after supper, with the moon just rising in the eastern heavens, and the many noises of the night adding to the drowsy feeling, he referred to the loss of the entire saddle band of horses, sustained by a ranch located some twenty miles away, on Cibiou Creek.
“I’ve been thinking some over that matter, Frank,” he continued; “while I was kept here idle with this game leg; and putting this and that together, I reached a certain conclusion. Fact is, I’ve about made up my mind I know where that Mendoza crowd of rustlers must hold out.”
“If that’s so, dad,” remarked Frank, “you’d sure please a lot of people a heap if you could show ’em. They’ve been hunting high and low these three years and more for that secret cache
where Pedro hides his stolen cattle and horses. Would you mind telling Bob and me about it?”
“Fact is, Frank,” the rancher went on, “you were the one to give me my idea.”
“Now I get on to what you mean, sir,” remarked Frank. “You’re referring to what Bob and myself saw, that time we were on our way to find out what made the queer growling and thunder-like sounds on that mountain?”