The old scout had spent several hours in a vain endeavor to locate some buffalo, when, on resting in the crotch of a tree, he saw the desperadoes approaching.
The rascals were tired out with their search for the scout, and came to a halt directly under the tree.
"It's a fool errand," old Benson heard one of the men say. "Matt Gilroy ought to have been satisfied with corraling Captain Moore and those boys."
"The captain wants to make a grand round-up," answered another of the men. "He told me that if we missed Benson the scout might make trouble."
Benson listened to this conversation with intense interest, and soon learned the truth—that Captain Moore was already a prisoner, and that another party had gone off to bring in Joe and Darry.
"This is a nice state of affairs," he thought. "These rascals mean mischief. I wish I could get the drop on them. I'd soon teach them a thing or two."
He watched the men as a cat watches mice, and, when the party of three moved on, stole after them like an Indian on the warpath.
The desperadoes skirted the brushwood, but did not go out on the grassy slope of the valley, fearing that the old scout might be near by in hiding and see them.
They were a shiftless lot, and soon came to another halt, under some small trees. Here they threw themselves on the ground, and while two of them smoked their pipes the third indulged in a nap.
Not a great distance off was a spring of pure cold water, and presently one of the men got up and walked over to this to get a drink.