“No more do I believe that it is,” Frank replied. “It’s lonely enough, all right, but there’s little save bare rock here; and cattle have to graze, you understand, Bob. Hold out a little longer, and I reckon we’re going to run up against another quick turn. Perhaps it’ll be in the shape of a second passage under this ridge here on the left, that will show us into this Mendoza’s retreat.”
The words, somehow, thrilled Bob. He realized that this was indeed a serious business upon which, in company with the Circle Ranch cow punchers, he was now fully embarked. What the end would be it was impossible to more than conjecture.
Scotty was constantly on the watch, as though he, too, anticipated a change in the conditions, sooner or later, and did not mean to pass the turn by. Whenever the moon served, he would try to examine the ground most carefully, evidently looking for signs that would tell of cattle having passed this way many times.
Once, when they had not been able to take advantage of the moon’s light for almost ten minutes, Scotty grew restless.
“He’s going to strike another match,” remarked Frank in his chum’s ear, as he saw the
trailer getting down on hands and knees close to the rocks.
His prediction proved to be true, for immediately afterward Bob saw a small glow, with the face of Scotty pressed close to the ground, as he moved back and forth, eagerly looking for something that seemed to be missing.
“He don’t seem able to find it, Frank,” said Bob, guessing the truth from these signs.
“That’s what,” echoed his chum, who had arrived at that conclusion half a minute before it struck Bob.
“What would that mean, then?” continued the Kentucky boy.