"Why?" asked Stella.
"Somethin' wrong with ther cattle."
"In what way?"
"Thar ain't half enough o' them here."
"Do you mean that some of them are gone?"
"Yep. Thet's jest what I mean."
"Strayed, probably?"
"No. Stole."
"Nonsense. Who could have stolen them? The Indians?"
"No. I reckon not. The Injuns is keen after ponies. In the fust place thar ain't nobody what kin wear out a pony as fast as an Injun. They work their ponies ter death, starve 'em, beat ther hides off'n 'em, neglect 'em, and when they're wore out turn 'em loose fer ther wolves. Second, they kin run off a bunch o' ponies in a hurry, but they balk some at rustlin' cattle because they move so slow. If we aire shy on beeves ther white men has got 'em."