"I've seen it wetter, Dad. And there's hardly any water in Forked Branch.
I don't see how the stray cattle get enough to drink."
"It is queer they'd be off up that way," observed Pete. "But that might account for it," he went on, as though communing with himself.
"Account for what?" asked Dave, as he sat down in a chair on the porch.
"Th' rustlers. If they were up Forked Branch way they'd stand between th' strays and th' cattle comin' down where they could get plenty of water in Rolling River. That's worth lookin' into. I'll ride up that way with you to-morrow, Dave, an' help drive in them cattle."
"Will you, Pete? That will be fine!" the young cowboy exclaimed. Evidently there was a strong feeling of affection between the two. Dave looked to Mr. Carson for confirmation.
"Very well," the ranch owner said, "you and Pete may go, Dave. But don't take any chances with the rustlers if you encounter them."
"We're not likely to," said Pocus Pete, significantly.
From the distant cook house came the appetizing odor of food and Dave sniffed the air eagerly.
"Hungry?" asked Mr. Carson.
"That's what I am, Dad!"