They turned back at once, and made all possible haste to arrive at the spot where their comrades were watching the cattle.
“Everything seems to be all right down there,” remarked the stockman, when at one point they managed to obtain a glimpse of the huddled herd, with the cowboys on foot circling constantly around, in order to make sure that no start was made toward a stampede.
“Hark! what does that mean?” cried Bob, as shots sounded in the valley.
“Somethin’ doin’ down by the camp, I reckon,” asserted Scotty. “P’raps Mendoza is a-tryin’ to break out, and the boys are givin’ the rustlers ‘Hail Columbia.’”
After the few shots all was quiet again, a fact that seemed to satisfy the rancher that nothing serious had come of the effort.
“I reckon they saw some sign of a break, and
just sent in a few shots to sort of remind the rustlers that they were still thar on the job,” Bart suggested; but not being able to learn the facts they had to let that theory stand.
Arriving at the place where the big herd awaited their coming, they were soon busily employed getting the stock started. This was no easy task, there on the mountainside, with only a dim trail ahead.
But these men were old hands at the business. They knew all the tricks of the trade, and how to utilize the instincts of the cattle in carrying out their designs.
Once the herd started upward, they seemed to begin to understand. One of the big steers led the way, doubtless occupying much the same position that Old Baldy had been accustomed to filling. Possibly the animal could catch the scent of the preceding beast; though even Bob considered this somewhat unlikely, since so much time had elapsed since Baldy passed over the ground.