"But he'll hear the rifle if we shoot one."
"That's so; but it will be too late then."
Silently as cats, the two boys got out of bed and dressed, an operation which was performed by slipping on trousers, shirts and boots over their pajamas. Then, with their sombrero hats on, they were ready to creep outside. The moon had been up for an hour, and was shining down in a radiant flood, illuminating the heaving surface of the foothills as if they had been a silver sea.
"Which way will we go?" whispered Ralph, as they stole along in the dark shadow of the low timber house like two culprits.
"Over there. Down toward the corral. The chicken house is down there, and those four-footed thieves are fond of chicken au naturel."
Taking advantage of every bit of shadow that offered, the two lads crept toward the corral, a big inclosure about half an acre in extent, in the center of which stood a fenced haystack. The horses of the ranch were generally turned loose in it to browse about at their will. Usually not more than enough for the use of the ranch-house family were kept there, the rest being driven in from the "remuda" as required.
"Say, it's silent, isn't it?" whispered Ralph, as they crawled along behind a big stack of wild-oat hay.
"Well, you didn't expect to find a roaring city in the heart of the foothills of the Hachetas, did you?" inquired Jack, with vast sarcasm. "Hush! Now I think I saw something!"
"Where?"
"Off there to the south. It was slipping along among the hills. There, there it is again!"