“Well, this sure is queer!” exclaimed Mr. Watson, banging his fist down on the table. “I never knew cattle raids to be carried on like this. They must give the beasts wings after they start to drive ’em away.”
“It does seem so,” agreed Gimp. “What they do with ’em is a mystery to me.”
“Could they mingle your cattle in with others from another ranch, so you wouldn’t notice them?” asked Ned.
“Well, Son, they could do that if there was other herds with a different brand than ours near here,” admitted the foreman. “But there isn’t. I see your drift. You mean they’ll round up some of your dad’s steers and when they get to where some other rancher has his herds they’ll bunch ’em; is that it?”
“Yes,” nodded Ned.
“Well, I don’t hardly believe they’d do that. It would be too hard work to cut out our cattle, and besides, as soon as the rancher saw a new brand in with his beef he’d send word here. Our brand is registered all over.
“Besides,” went on the foreman, “the thieves wouldn’t just cut out our cattle and drive them on, after they’d let ’em mingle; they’d take some of the other man’s, too. And we haven’t heard of any other ranch being robbed the way Square Z has—at least, I haven’t,” he concluded, looking at the cowboys.
“No, they seem to be picking on just us,” said the Parson.
“I guess my theory isn’t of much account,” admitted Ned. Then, as the two boys left the group of ranchers, going off by themselves, he added: “But we’ve got to do something—we’ve got to make good.”
“That’s right!” declared Bob. “We got the folks to consent to let us try our hand at this rather than hire detectives, and they may call us off if we don’t show results.”