AT THE HORSE CORRAL GATE
"There he is again, Frank! The same queer chap we saw before!"
"That's a dead certainty, Lanky. But lower your voice a bit or he might take the alarm and vamoose."
"I sure wonder what he's prowling around Rockspur ranch-house for, and on a moonlight night, at that. But, Frank, it isn't our old enemy, Nash Yesson, is it?" cried Lanky Wallace explosively.
"No. And I'm just as sure it isn't Lef Seller," came from Frank Allen, referring to the bully of Columbia, Frank's home town.
The scene was the living room of Rockspur Ranch in the far West, where so many exciting things had already happened to Frank Allen and his chums, Lanky Wallace—whose folks owned the ranch—and Paul Bird. Paul was slumbering peacefully, totally unaware of what was taking place outside.
"There! You can see him plainer now, Frank!" went on Lanky. "He seems to be a runt of a man, with a big head and bushy hair. An ugly customer, I'd say. Do you reckon he's mixed up with the Yesson crowd?"
"Looks that way to me. See him wriggling along now, like a snake in the grass. He's up to some mischief, all right."
"He's wearing a cowboy hat, you can see now, Frank; must belong over with that tough gang at the Double Z Ranch."
"Whatever his game is, he'd better watch his eye or he'll find Lige Smith and his punchers hustling after him. Right now they're all radio hounds, and bunched inside the bunk-house, listening to jazz dance music."