“Sounds like it’s coming from the east, which means that herd is safe!” remarked Bob, as he and his chum stood in the faint light of early morning, listening eagerly to the sounds of cattle moving—the clicking of long-horns striking, the peculiar snap of hoofs, and every now and then a low bellow from some steer that had been prodded to keep him in line with the course leading to the big corral.
“Listen again!” exclaimed Frank, with evident satisfaction in his voice.
“Did you think you caught sounds, too, from over in the other direction?” asked Bob, seeing his chum appeared to have his attention turned that way.
“Yes, I’m sure of it,” came the reply.
“That would mean both herds are safe, then, Frank?”
“Glad to say it looks that way,” replied the other, whose keen hearing could often catch
sounds that were unheard by the less keen ears of Bob.
Presently there could be no doubt about it. From two directions came great herds of prime cattle, steers, cows and calves partly grown, and many ready to be branded at the fall round-up so near at hand.
For a time there was more or less excitement, as the herds were driven through the gateway into the great corral, where they could find abundant pasturage for a day or two, while the main body of cowboys were away. Several men must be left behind to attend to the cattle, and these could during the day drive the big herd forth to the nearest grass and water.
After breakfast ponies were looked after, and a thousand and one preparations made that had an ominous significance. Had the rustler, Pedro Mendoza, only been able to look in on Circle Ranch just then, it must have flattered his pride to know what an upheaval his raid had created. And possibly it may have also rendered him a bit uneasy, because of the warlike signs which those determined cowboys manifested as they prepared to take to the trail.