“A dozen good fellows stationed here,” thought Stratton, critically surveying the gully behind him, “would catch them without any trouble. There’s no other way I’ve seen of getting out with a bunch of cattle.”
Having settled this point to his satisfaction, Buck’s mind veered swiftly—with an odd sense of relief that now at last he could investigate the matter seriously—to 193 the other problem which had stirred his curiosity so long.
When his attention was first attracted to the north pasture by Bud’s account of Andrew Thorne’s tragic death, its connection with the mystery of the ranch seemed trivial. But for some reason the thing stuck in his mind, returning again and again with a teasing persistence and gaining each time in significance. From much thinking about it, Buck could almost reconstruct the scene, with its familiar, humdrum background of bawling calves, lowing mothers, dust, hot irons, swearing, sweating men, and all the other accompaniments of the spring branding. That was the picture into which Thorne had suddenly ridden, his face stamped with an excitement in marked contrast to his usual phlegmatic calm. In his mind’s eye Stratton could see him clutch Tex Lynch and draw him hastily to one side, could imagine vividly the low-voiced conversation that followed, the hurried saddling of a fresh horse, and the swift departure of the two northward—to what?
Buck had asked himself that question a hundred times. Three hours had passed before the return of Lynch alone, with the shocking news—time enough to ride twice the distance to north pasture and back again. Where had the interval been passed, and how? 194
Stratton realized that they might easily have changed their direction, once they were out of sight of the men. They might have gone eastward toward the ranch-house—which they had not—or westward into the mountains. Once or twice Buck considered the possibility of the old man’s having stumbled on a rich lode of precious metal. But as far as he knew no trace of gold had ever been found in these mountains. Moreover, though Lynch was perfectly capable of murdering his employer for that knowledge, his next logical move would have been an immediate taking up of the claims, instead of which he remained quietly on the ranch to carry on his slow and secret plotting.
Stratton long ago dismissed that possibility. There remained only the north pasture, and the longer he considered it the more he became convinced that Thorne had met his death there, and that the chances were strong that somewhere in those wastes of worthless desert land lay the key to the whole enthralling mystery.
Buck was so eager to start his investigations that it irked him to have to spend the few remaining hours of the afternoon in idleness. But as he knew that the undertaking would take a full day or even longer, he possessed his soul with patience and made arrangements for an early start next morning.
The dawn was just breaking when he left camp 195 mounted on Pete, the Rocking-R horse that he had found so reliable in the rough country. The simplest and most direct way would have been to descend to level ground and ride along the edge of the Shoe-Bar land. But he dared not take any chances of being observed by Lynch or his gang, and was forced to make a long detour through the hills.
The way was difficult and roundabout. Frequently he was turned back by blind cañons or gullies which had no outlet, and there were few places where the horse could go faster than a walk. To Buck’s impatient spirit it was all tiresome and exasperating, and he had moments of wondering whether he was ever going to get anywhere.
Finally, about the middle of the afternoon, he was cheered for the first time by an unexpected glimpse of his goal. For several miles he had been following a rough trail which wound around the side of a steep, irregular hill. Coming out abruptly on a little plateau, with the tumbled rocks rising at his back, there spread out suddenly before him to the east a wide, extended sweep of level country.