“There’s only one way we could do it,” was the reply; “which is to keep moving around, so that there’d be no chance for the enemy to sneak up and stampede the cattle.”
Presently the call to supper came, and the three boys, being hungry, hastened to the mess room, where, at the long table, they found an abundance of “chuck,” as the punchers denominate their food.
Billie actually forgot to limp, in his hurry to keep up with his chums, so that he might not be left out when it came to securing a seat; because he was always ready to do justice to such a spread as Charley Moo placed before the crowd.
Fortunately Mrs. Fred did not see fit to make her appearance, so that the meal passed off without any unpleasantness. The five suspects seemed to be on their best behavior, as though they rather fancied they would get in trouble if they attempted to be in any way domineering in their manner toward the others.
By the time the supper was over night had fallen, and it was dark indeed when Adrian and Donald walked out to find Mr. Comstock, in order to learn whether anything new had taken place meanwhile.
They found him pacing up and down near the big corral, and acting as though he had a heavy weight on his shoulders; as indeed was the case, for as yet it was an open question whether those who intended to defend the stock would be able to prevent the bold rustlers from running away with a large portion of the cattle.
“No signs of Frank Bowker turning up yet, I suppose, Uncle Fred?” Adrian asked, as they joined
the little man with the white head of hair and the soldierly ways.
“Sorry to say not, son,” came the answer; “but then I’m not so much surprised at that, because I told Frank to stand by, and give the new sheriff all the assistance in his power when he started to gathering his posse. So chances are, we wouldn’t be apt to see the boy till the whole bunch came along.”
“I wish they’d hurry, then,” Adrian continued.