A quick call from one quarter soon announced that the expected signs had been found. Riding that way Frank and Bob saw that the trailer Scotty was indicating his discovery to Bart Heminway and the stockman.
They agreed with him that it pointed to the fact of the herd having been driven that way. A little further on, and they saw fresh signs that had escaped the scrutiny of the rustlers when they were busy concealing all marks, as they believed, to indicate the passage of the lost herd.
So it continued until finally they reached rocky ground, where there would be less to conceal.
“I can’t see how they do it,” declared Bob, as he watched the two men in the lead running back and forth like a couple of dogs, their ponies having been taken in charge by some of their comrades.
“Well,” chuckled Frank, “I happen to know that one of them, Scotty there, would be just as surprised to hear you read any book you happened to pick up; because, you see, Scotty doesn’t know how to read. The ground is like a printed page to him. He sees scores of little signs you would never notice. And they tell him things, just as the letters, placed in combinations, tell you a certain word is meant.”
“But Frank, look over yonder,” said Bob, pointing ahead.
“Yes, I see it, all right,” replied the other, with a nod and a laugh.
“Our old friend, Thunder Mountain, isn’t it?” demanded Bob.
“That’s right,” replied the other. “The same place where we had our little bunch of adventures with a grizzly, a cloudburst, and a few other things; not to forget a certain fellow named Peg Grant, who tried to play the game ahead of us, but fell down.”
“And, Frank, you notice, I reckon, that we