“No. Thet will be givin’ notice to them critters thet we’ve finished this heah little game, an’ I don’t want them to have thet satisfaction. We’ll mosey about a little an’ see if we kin find Mr. Wingate.” Pete, followed by Tom, worked up and down the valley parallel with the mountain ranges for some little time without discovering Hippy; then all of a sudden, Pete uttered a whoo—pe-e-e! It was answered instantly, and two men rode cautiously out of the darkness. They proved to be Sierra Joe and Nevada, who said the others were somewhere to the north. A distant hail told the men that the others also had heard Pete’s call and were heading in his direction. Tom, worried as he was about Hippy, could not but admire the efficient manner in which these men of the open worked. It was a revelation to him. Shortly after that the rest of the party rode in.
“Has any of you cayuses seen anythin’ of the Old Man’s friend?” questioned Pete.
“Is he the feller that was workin’ to the south?” asked Nevada.
“Yes,” spoke up Tom.
“Wal, he quit firin’ some little piece back thar. I reckon mebby he got winged,” announced Nevada.
“Line up, fellers! Take yer ranges by the hills on the other side of the valley and look sharp. I reckon mebby thar’s some other things to find in this heah valley,” added Pete significantly.
The search for Hippy began without a moment’s delay, fast and efficient, but without a trace of excitement. The attitude of his companions steadied Tom and assisted him to keep his head clear.
Two dead ponies were found first by Sierra, and near them lay two men, both dead. Sierra hailed his companions and when they arrived he struck a match to look at the victims.
“Chuck the light!” commanded Pete sternly.
The words were barely past his lips when a bullet pinged through the air over their heads.