“Maybe it’s only greasers from the valley coming up after firewood at night.”
“Mebbe,” said Jake; “but that don’t sound reasonable.”
“I know it doesn’t; but I can’t figure out what else it can be. I found a trail up above Jackknife last spring, and maybe that had something to do with it. I’ve sure got to follow that up. The trouble has been that it doesn’t lead where the stock ever goes, and I haven’t had time to look into it. Do you think they come up here regularly?”
“We got it doped out that it’s always Friday nights. I see the tracks Saturday mornings, and some of the boys say they’ve heard ’em along around midnight a couple of times.”
“What gates do they go out by?”
“They use all four of ’em at different times.”
“H-m! Padlock all the gates to-morrow. This is Thursday. Then we’ll see what happens.”
They did see, for on the following Saturday, when Custer rode fence, he found it cut close by one of the padlocked gates—the gate that opened into the mouth of Horse Camp Cañon. Shannon was with him, and she was much excited at this evidence of mystery so close at home.
“What in the world do you suppose they can be doing?” she asked.
“I don’t know; but it’s something they shouldn’t be doing, or they wouldn’t go to so much pains to cover their tracks. They evidently passed in and out at this point, but they’ve brushed out their tracks on both sides, so that you can’t tell which way they went last. Look here! On both sides of the fence the trail splits. It’s hard to say which was made first, and where they passed through the fence. One track must have been on top of the other, but they’ve brushed it out.”