“Thunder Canyon?” Teddy broke in eagerly.
“That’s it! Thunder Canyon! That’s where they was headed for! An’ they were sure steppin’ along, too. Thunder Canyon! That’s the place.”
Mr. Manley turned to the others. His eyes were narrowed and his hand rested on the gun which hung at his side.
“You men get set,” he said tersely. “We start right away. Each man take rations enough to last him for three or four days an’ bring plenty of ammunition. We do no more foolin’ around! From now on we ride them rustlers till we get ’em.”
Instantly every one was astir. Saddles and guns were looked over carefully and small bags of flour, bacon, and tea were prepared. The boys and their father said a fond good-bye to Mrs. Manley, who, when she heard of the puncher’s story of the other woman in the car, felt greatly relieved. After all, the worst that could happen would be that the rustlers would hold the girls until Mr. Manley consented to do their bidding, whatever it might be. They would never dare to kill three girls in cold blood.
At last all was in readiness. The party was mounted, guns showing conspicuously in saddle holsters, and the men awaited the word to start.
Mr. Manley ran from the house and vaulted into the saddle. He looked quickly about him, to see that all the men were there. Then he nodded.
“All right,” he said laconically. “Let’s go! Head for Thunder Canyon.”
“Right, boss,” answered Gus Tripp softly, and the others nodded.
In that calm fashion started the ride after the rustlers. No shouting, no raking of ponies’ sides with spurs to send them into a leaping run. Just a bunch of punchers riding out of a ranch yard, as though they were on their way to a round-up.