Frank had already guessed this much. It looked like a serious proposition; but then he was a boy not easily daunted. The more difficult the task the greater was Frank Bird’s resolution apt to be aroused.
First of all it seemed essential that the ranchman must be notified of what had happened and that as quickly as possible. They were many miles away, and doubtless much valuable time would be lost, even after the messenger reached the round-up camp, since the boys would be off here and there engaged in their work of gathering the cattle for the purpose of picking out unbranded stock, and driving it in to be marked, after it had been roped and thrown.
Meanwhile, it was necessary that they find out if possible which way the kidnapper had gone; though the chances were ten to one the direction would be south. There were several reasons for believing this. In the first place Mexico lay in that quarter; and doubtless across the border Jose Sandero had prepared a hiding place where he could defy the United States courts to summon him. Perhaps he also had friends and comrades awaiting him there, who would defend him against any pursuit of the Double X Ranch cow punchers, bent on recovering the child and punishing the bold abductor.
Frank stepped over to the window, and looked out.
It happened that just below the earth was soft, for Mr. Witherspoon had made a brave effort to have certain flowering shrubs bloom near the house, and several pink oleanders and scarlet hibiscus did manage to survive the heat, being carefully watered each morning and evening by Charley Woo with his hose. And looking closely Frank could see the mark of footprints. He climbed out of the window and began to follow them, Andy being quickly at his side, bubbling over with indignation and breathing all sorts of dire threats against the bad man who had for some reason other than affection chosen to steal the child to whom he no longer had any claim, selecting the very time when the punchers would be far away from the ranch house, which he had expected would be practically left unprotected.
Frank kept on following the tracks until finally he came to the now almost empty corral, where the riding horses were kept when the boys were at home.
“See,” Frank observed, “here is where he had his pony tied—there were two of them, Andy, showing that he came here with the intention of carrying little Becky off.”
“Yes,” added Andy, “and now we ought to learn which way he went. But Frank, there’s hardly a pony fit to ride except Alkali Joe’s mount in the corral. They took every one along for use in the rough work of the round-up. Uncle says he will have to break in a lot more right away. They’ve been losing a large number lately, you remember. Heads into the south, don’t it, Frank?”
“Yes, just as I thought it would,” muttered the other coming to a stand, and looking away off over the level stretch of plain, as though he wished he had eyes strong enough to discover the fleeing marauder, miles and miles away though he must be before now.
“Poor little Becky, how frightened she must be to find herself being carried off by that man,” remarked Andy, his voice trembling with feeling; and he had to stop speaking to grit his teeth, as anger almost overwhelmed him. “Of course he’s told her before now that he is her father; but that won’t make her feel any better, because she has heard enough from the boys to know that Jose is a bad man, who deserted her mother, and was in one way the cause of her death. Whatever do you suppose he did it for, Frank; not that he could care about Becky, who looks too much like her mother did to ever make him love her? More’n likely now, he’s gone to all this trouble, and risked his neck in the bargain, just to get even with Uncle Jethro.”