Glasses were soon leveled at the approaching dust cloud which Sam had identified as belonging to the Circle O bunch. As the riders rode out of the cloud Grace uttered a cry of delight.
“It is Ginger! They have found Ginger! Oh, I’m so glad.”
“Only Ginger! Fiddlesticks!” growled Stacy in disgust. “Somebody will have to buy me a new pony. I’m not going to walk. You take my word for that.”
“Ginger!” cried Grace as the punchers rode in, dust-covered, smiling, happy in being able to do something for one of the Overland girls.
The little pony trotted to her, showing every evidence of being glad to be back with his mistress, and Grace petted and fed the scrubby-looking mustang until Sam took the animal away and tethered him.
“We found him grazin’ ’bout fifteen mile down the valley,” explained Pete.
“What about the men who stole him?” demanded Bindloss.
“We didn’t find ’em,” said Pete. “Thar was three dead mustangs out thar, though, but saddles and bridles had been taken off, leavin’ nothin’ to identify the outfit by.”
“See any blood?” questioned Sam Conifer.
“Wal, I reckon as thar was some,” answered Pete, with a grin. “This is the bunch thet got yer mustangs, folks. No doubt ’bout thet. Boss, what do ye reckon on our doin’ next?”