"Soon as they are turned out on the Far Pasture. When they get over the scare of the stampede, they'll leave the place unwatched, and we'll have our chance. We ought to get five hundred apiece out of it, anyhow."
"That would look good to me," grunted Hank.
"Oh, the scoundrels!" breathed Rob to himself. "They're plotting to steal some of Mr. Harkness's mavericks. I remember now hearing him speak of turning them out in the Far Pasture."
"Then we can clear out and get back East," concluded Bill, "and take poor old Jack with us. He isn't making out very well."
"Sort of hanger-on in that gambling place, isn't he?" asked Clark.
"I guess that's what you'd call it."
Soon after the group saddled up their ponies and prepared to leave their temporary camp. That they were on the trail, after having concluded their dastardly attempt to stampede Mr. Harkness's cattle, Rob had no doubt, judging by their conversation.
"Better put that fire out!" warned Clark. "Scatter the ashes. We don't want any one trailing us."
The three worthies bent together over the ashes, while their saddled ponies stood eying them at some short distance.
"Guess I'd better pull back out of this before they take it into their heads to look around," thought Rob, who in his eagerness to hear what was going forward below had thrust his head out through the bush which screened him.