Being now free from their ponies, which could not betray them by any shrill neigh, the three boys could advance toward the spot where the fire flickered amidst the brushwood at the mouth of the big coulie.
Each of them gripped his rifle, and was filled with a grim resolution to use this weapon should necessity compel such tactics. At the same time Billie was wishing that they could overpower the rustlers while they slept, making it a bloodless victory; and this in spite of his bold threat made a short time back, too.
The nearer they drew to where the fire had been started the more convinced both ranch boys became that they had guessed the truth when figuring that the cattle thieves must have hurried the stolen herd into the coulie, and intended remaining there near the mouth of the ravine until daylight allowed them to get to work altering the brand of the Bar-S to that of the Walker ranches.
While Donald had expressed his vain wish that some of the husky punchers belonging to the Keytone ranch away down in Arizona could be with them, to make matters more interesting, Adrian on
his part was also sorry they could not have the assistance of those three stout cowboys whom they had met and exchanged greetings with on the previous afternoon; and whose knowledge of the country, as well as ability to handle cattle, would be a strong factor in carrying out their game.
But this could not be, and as things now looked the three Broncho Rider Boys must depend entirely upon themselves for balking the evil designs of this Walker crowd of rustlers.
[CHAPTER IX.—READY TO ACT.]
The cattle had apparently quieted down, now that they were no longer pestered with the shouts of the galloping punchers, coupled with the snap of the cruel quirts. They had run far enough to be in a sweat, and were doubtless glad of the chance to lie down in the coulie, to find the rest they craved. Outside of an occasional “boo,” or possibly a crash of horns, there could be heard nothing that would indicate the presence near by of a pretty large bunch of steers.
That ravine would afford the finest sort of a corral, with its narrow neck, in which the fire had
been built, around which the tired rustlers were now grouped, taking things easy, and filled with exultation no doubt because of their fine success in running off the herd without a single shot having been fired, because Mr. Comstock dared not give orders for his men to pursue, with that virago under his roof holding him in check.