The Mexicans replied with a curious glance, and one of them gave the usual, "No sabe!"
After wiping their perspiring faces with their handkerchiefs, the boys and Hawke pulled out from under the trees and rode out into the sun again. It was not an unusually warm day for New Mexico, but warm enough to give them some discomfort.
"We might go out of our way a little and get a drink at the river over here," suggested Dunk.
"We'll have something better'n that to drink when we get to Phipps' I bet," answered Jerry scornfully. "He always treats us great whenever we go over there—and besides, we got company to-day."
"I don't want to say nothin'," interjected Fly, who had been thinking on the subject since his last remark. "But I do hope it is a bird."
"Say, you joy-killer, you calamity howler, cut that out, will you?" Jerry pulled his pony over and gave Fly a jab in the ribs. "If you don't quit, this will turn into a funeral procession. I'm gettin' cold feet already."
At that moment Carlito, who had been riding silently a little in advance of the others, spurred up his pony, and with a hasty "I think I see something," dashed on ahead.
After a moment of surprise and hesitation, the others galloped after him. Carlito did not go far, however, but before he stopped the others saw what he was after. When he pulled up, four or five chattering magpies flew complainingly from the ground, where they had been feeding on a dead lamb.
Carl slipped off his pony and the others followed his example. The party gathered around the Indian, who was stooping over the animal and examining it closely. It was frightfully torn under the belly and its back was broken.
"There's been somethin' doin' in the sheep stealin' line again," said Jerry. "What do you think about it, Carl?"