It was boots and saddles early the next morning, the boys taking their lunch with them.
“Good luck!” called the foreman after them. “If you don’t find the rustlers, at least you’ve kept ’em away since you came, except for that one raid.”
When he went out to the corral a little later and observed a pony there he exclaimed to Gimp:
“Who’s horse is Jerry riding?”
“His own, ain’t he?”
“There’s his pony now,” said the foreman. “Where’s Go Some?”
“By stirrup!” cried the cowboy. “Jerry’s taken the wrong pony. That imp Go Some will turn wild after he’s been ridden a few hours—he always does. And the fellow that’s on his back—well, I wouldn’t give much for his hide!” and he started off on a run.