Whatever they did, Billie was bound to join in also; with such leaders he would have plodded after, no matter what the risk; for he never stopped to count the cost, if only he did not have to be left alone.
“There! it’s come at last!” exclaimed Donald, suddenly; and somehow the very fact of his lowering his voice announced that in his opinion they must begin to exercise due caution.
“They’ve stopped running, for a fact!” echoed his chum, alongside.
“Course they have,” added Billie, just for all the world like a poll parrot.
Donald immediately pulled his pony up sharply.
“Time we called a halt, then, and figured things out,” he announced.
“Oh! joy beyond measure!” murmured a faint voice from the rear—Billie talking to himself, of course.
When they had pulled up they sat there in their saddles with heads bent forward, trying to catch further sounds from ahead that would tell in some measure what the rustlers were doing.
The shouts still continued but had changed more or less. Both ranch boys could tell that the punchers must be driving the stock steadily ahead of them now, and in all probability into the gaping jaws of the big ravine known throughout that section as Bittersweet Coulie.
If this proved to be true then Donald’s guess had been along correct lines. This little fact seemed like a good omen to begin with. Now, if it turned out that this further prediction regarding the limited number of the rustlers also came to pass, and they could only catch them off their guard before dawn arrived, it would not be strange if they turned the trick, daring as their plans might appear.