“He vas chust like a farm, only different,” remarked the delicatessen man. “Dot iss a nice lot of cows you got, Songpird. I dink dos cows vould make apout a million pounds of frankfurters, not?” and at this remark there was a general laugh.
A few days later Jack noticed that Songbird Powell seemed to be worried over something. The owner of Big Horn Ranch held an earnest consultation with Joe Jackson, and then the foreman of the ranch rode off in hot haste, accompanied by two of his cowboys.
“What’s the matter—is something wrong?” questioned Jack of Spouter.
“Four of our best horses are missing,” answered Spouter. “The men are not sure whether they strayed away or have been stolen. Jackson and the fellows with him are going to ride along the river and see if they can find out.”
“Didn’t you say something about other horses being stolen before we got here?”
“Yes. But they didn’t belong to my father. They belonged to the men who formerly owned this ranch. They left them here, but at their own risk.”
“Were the animals now missing the horses we rode?” questioned Fred.
“No. They were the mounts used by Jackson and his men. That is, three of the horses were. The other was that beautiful black my father occasionally rode.”
“You mean Blackbird?” exclaimed Randy.
“Yes.”