“There goes one of our choice bunches of beef,” he said bitterly. “That means Chuck stumbled on the rustlers on our range.”
“Comb this section again,” roared Nels angrily. “Maybe they left Chuck wounded some place just out of our sight. Get him first, then the cattle.”
Again the riders, grimly silent, spread out and through the early hours of the morning they rode in search of the missing Box B puncher. It was mid forenoon before they gathered around the chuck wagon, weary and hungry from the all-night vigil and the search.
Squatting on their heels, with pans of piping hot food before them, they listened as Joe Haines outlined the next step in their campaign against the rustlers.
“It’s pretty evident that the rustlers captured Chuck and forced him to go with them,” he said. “The thing to do now is to go after the cattle. The trail’s fresh and even though they’ve a few hours start, we’ll be able to overtake them.”
“That trail’s heading for the Diamond Dot,” said Nels harshly.
“I know it. Look to your guns, boys. There’ll be trouble before the day’s over. If any of you want to pull out now, that’s all right with us.”
No man moved as though to leave and after the hearty breakfast, each one examined his guns.
With Nels and Joe in the lead, they swung into their saddles. It was an earnest, silent group of riders that trotted south along the Box B line to pick up the trail of the missing cattle. They found the trail and turned east into Diamond Dot territory, with the rugged foothills of the Cajons only a few miles ahead of them.
Al Bass leaned over and spoke to Slim.