“Nothing that I know of. Why?”
“He seems to want to hurry up all the while. Never knew him to be that way before. He was always at the tail end.”
“He is a bit speedy,” admitted Jerry, as he saw that his mount was stepping along at a good pace. “I never paid much attention to him before. Maybe he has some friends over this way. I wonder,” went on Jerry, speculatively, “if any of the cow rustlers’ ponies could be grazing around here?” for they were in the vicinity of the place where they had picked up the trail of the last raiding party.
“It might be,” agreed Ned. “Horses have relations, same as other animals, I reckon, and if your pony got a whiff of the family he might be in a hurry to rub noses. But, however that may be, I’d give a good bit to know where they hide their horses and the cattle. Hold on there! Don’t be in such a rush!”
Jerry tried to rein in his mount, but it was too late, for, a moment later, the animal had taken the bit in his teeth and was dashing across the plain.
“What are you trying to do—start a race?” cried Ned.
“I’ll give you a brush!” added Bob, but he had a glimpse of Jerry’s face as the lad tore past him, and Jerry’s countenance showed anything but delight in a coming test of speed.
Meanwhile, Gimp, his anxious eyes scanning the horizon at every rise he topped, was riding on, muttering to himself.
“That change of horses never was made natural,” he said. “Somebody who didn’t like Jerry had a hand in it. Now I wonder who it could be? Well, better not ask too many questions, I reckon. But I’ll keep my eyes open.”