"Not a soul to be seen," exclaimed Mr. Merrill.
"Well, that's funny," commented Bud. "This is where the firing was, for sure."
"Yep, right up above there," rejoined another cowboy, Sam Ellis, pointing upward on the hillside.
"What do you make of it, boss?" was Bud's next query.
"I don't know what to think," rejoined Mr. Merrill. "Perhaps we were mistaken, and the firing we heard came from hunters up on the hillside."
"Hunters! Not much chance of that," said Bud grimly. "Hunters who made all that racket would soon scare all the game in the country away. No, boss, you'll have to guess again. By Jee-hosophat!"
Slinking through the underbrush far above them, Bud's keen eyes had discovered the furtive form of a man who by his gay sash and high-coned hat seemed to be a Mexican. To think, with Bud, was to act. His rifle jerked up to his shoulder as if automatically. As the weapon cracked sharply the man on the hillside gave a loud scream. Throwing his hands helplessly above his head, the next instant he came plunging and crashing downward through the brush.
"Got him!" gritted out Bud, grimly blowing through the barrel of his rifle to clear the smoke.
"Yip-ee!" yelled the cow-punchers at the successful shot.
Mr. Merrill looked grave.