“Whar they was supposed to be. I got a good look at the cabin, but couldn’t see nobody, an’ couldn’t find any ponies anywhar ’bout, though I see whar they’d been tethered. Would you folks know the tracks of yer horses?”
Grace said she did not think they would, not having had these animals long enough to be familiar with them.
“I can pick ’em out,” volunteered Bindloss.
“Good! Come with me. You folks kin ride up so you kin see the place whar the cabin is an’—”
“What cabin?” questioned Emma.
“One of the places whar the rustlers hang out, an’ whar I reckons that battle was fought. But you got to keep quiet.”
Bindloss dismounted and followed the girl, leaving the Overlanders alone and very much worried. The couple were gone for some time; then the Riders saw them returning, the rancher striding rapidly along, Judy following him thoughtfully.
“They’ve gone, folks!” he announced. “Neither hide nor hair of them left. I got into the cabin, and there was bullet holes, fresh ones, showing that there had been some shooting there. I reckon there was blood on the floor. It looked like it.”
“Anything else?” asked Grace, regarding him keenly.
“Nothing like what you mean,” answered Bindloss understandingly. “I found the tracks of my ponies, and we ain’t far from their trail right this minute. It looks to me as if your party has headed for home, and Judy agrees with me. There was five ponies in that bunch and they was all mine. That looks mighty queer to me.”