Leaping up again, the rancher peered backward in the moonlight. Something took shape, and he identified the figure of a man approaching. The Winchester was grasped and half aimed, so as to be ready for instant use.
But it was his friend, who was coming on the run. Budd Hankinson had heard the call, and obeyed it with surprising promptness.
"What's up?" he asked, as he halted, breathing not a whit faster because of his unusual exertion.
"They're running off some of the cattle; where's the hosses?"
"Hanged if I know! I called to Dick the minute I started, but he didn't show up; I don't know were he is."
"I whistled for Cap at the same time I did for you; he ought to be here first. I wonder if they've stolen him?" added Weber, affrightedly.
"No, they wouldn't have come that close; they didn't have the chance; but it gets me."
With that he sent out the signal once more. Budd did the same, and then they broke into their swift, loping trot after the fleeing animals, both in an ugly mood.
They were at great disadvantage without their own horses when it was clear the rustlers were mounted. But, though on foot, the ranchers could travel faster than the gait to which the cattle had been forced. They increased their speed, and it was quickly evident they were gaining on the rogues.
It was not long before they discerned the dark bodies galloping off in alarm. Almost at the same moment the ranchers saw the outlines of two horsemen riding from right to left, and goading the cattle to an injuriously high pace. Grizzly Weber, who was slightly in advance, turned his head and said, in excitement: