But quick as he was, the boy had delayed a little too long. In his anxiety to make sure from which quarter the drive was to begin, he had allowed the raiders to get between his line of scouts and the cattle, thus permitting them a free and open path to the mountains. In a flash Rob realized this, as he swung on his pony's back.
Silence was of little moment now, and the Boy Scouts uttered a loud cheer as they swept forward behind their leader.
Bang! Bang!
It was the answer to Rob's signal, from Mr. Harkness's party. But it sounded faint and far off. The rancher, in his anxiety to allow ample room to head off the cattle, in case they started for the Graveyard Cliffs, had stationed his men too far to the southward.
Already the drive had begun, and the mavericks were trotting off before the onrush of a dozen or more dark figures garbed like Indians.
"Whoop-whoop-whoop-ee-ee!" yelled the raiders, the better to keep up the illusion that they were Indians.
"I guess they don't know that they are not throwing any dust in our eyes," muttered Rob, as he dug his spurs in deep, and his pony answered with every pound of speed in its active little body. By his side was Harry Harkness and all about them surged the other Boy Scouts.
"Spread out! Spread out!" commanded Rob, as the charge swept forward. "Each Scout take a man and rope him if he can."
With the exception of the Eastern boys, every lad in the Ranger Patrol was, as a matter of course, an efficient roper, and could handle a lariat as well as they could their ponies. Rob's command to use the rawhides, therefore, met with shouts and yells of approval.
The consternation created in the ranks of Clark Jennings's raiders by the chorus of shouts and yells behind them may be imagined.