“Sure! Why wouldn’t it? What gets me, though, is why the foreman or some of his cowboys on the ranch haven’t been able to get on the trail of the thieves. Watson seems to think there is something of a mystery about it.”
“How mystery?” inquired Jerry.
“In the way the rustlers cover their tracks after they run off a bunch of choice steers. There’s something queer about that. I may have to take a trip out there myself, and help clear up the mystery,” and Ned assumed a whimsical air of importance.
“Mystery; eh?” cried Chunky. “Say, I wouldn’t mind taking a chance at that myself!”
“Not so bad,” came drawlingly from Jerry Hopkins. “We haven’t made our vacation plans yet, and trying to find and frustrate a band of mysterious cattle rustlers might not be the worst way of having a good time.”
Something seemed to startle Ned Slade into action. He folded the foreman’s letter, slapped it sharply on the edge of the table and cried:
“Fellows, I’ve got the greatest idea ever! If we three——”
There came an imperative knock on the door, followed by the command:
“Come on! Open up there!”