"Where?"
"There, near the bedding-down ground. Seems as though the boss might have put the cows further away from the place."
Tad surveyed the structure with keen interest. The white walls of the old adobe church reflected back the morning light in a whitish glare. About the place he observed a rank growth of weeds and evil cacti, the only touch of life to be seen being the birds that were perched on its crumbling ridges, gayly piping their morning songs.
"It looks deserted."
"I reckon it is," answered Big-foot. "Anyway, it ought to be. Ain't fit for human beings to roost in."
"Humph! I don't believe there is anything spooky about that building. I'm going to investigate, the first time I get the chance. Have we time to stop this morning?"
"No; we'll have to be getting along. The ponies we are after will have to be hobbled and got back to camp somehow. I expect we'll have a merry circus with them. If we get back in time for supper we'll be lucky."
"That will be fun," exulted Tad. "Mr. Stallings promised me I might break one of them. My pony having been drowned, I should like to break a fresh one for myself."
"And break your neck at the same time. I know you've got the sand, but you let that job out, kid. You don't know them bronchos."
"I thought you said I was no longer a tenderfoot," laughed Tad.