“I’m glad you told me then, Frank, because it might have bothered me some. Come to think of it, I reckon the spring must be in that little bunch of trees over yonder. It seems to be open from there right into camp.”
“Right again, Bob. You see it pays a fellow to keep his wits about him, and use his eyes in the bargain. But here’s Scotty right at my elbow; and that must be dad coming up on the other side of you. Enough said, Bob.”
They lapsed into silence. Bob knew that several unseen forms had ranged close by, and he could easily understand that these were the balance of the Circle Ranch cow puncher outfit, carrying out the directions given by their employer.
Bob had been idly watching the camp, which was not far away, when he suddenly became aware of the fact that a single figure had issued from among the tents and cabins, and was approaching.
He nudged his chum, as though to call his attention to the fact.
“I see him,” whispered Frank; “and unless I miss my guess, that is Mendoza himself. I’ve heard him described often enough to know.”
“But what’s he coming this way for?” asked Bob, a little nervous at hearing such information, and with his eyes still glued to the approaching figure of the Mexican.
“Give it up,” Frank replied; “still, the spring is over yonder, and perhaps he wants a nice cool drink, after smoking so much. We’ll watch and see.”
“Oh! wouldn’t it be great if some of the boys and Scotty could capture him while he’s bending down to drink?” said Bob.
“Great stunt,” assented Frank; “but hardly possible. Too close to the camp; and the first cry would upset everything. Let’s wait and see what happens.”