“Oh! It’s you, is it?”
“Yes. Boss, I been lookin’ ’round heah a little an’ I’ve diskivered some things. Thar was seven men in that party. They went up to our camp fust, but didn’t take nothin’. Then they come down heah an’ tried to git in the corral. Thar’s some bullet holes in the posts thar, which I reckon was made by Lieutenant Wingate’s rifle. Thar’s a rifle on the floor thar. Whose is that?”
“Mine,” exclaimed the rancher, picking up the weapon and examining it. “The magazine is empty—fired off this evening.”
“Jest so. Some of them bullets is in the stable now, an’ some more of ’em hit them rough-necks, mebby killed ’em, I can’t say. Leastwise they left some blood where two of ’em lay until they was carried away on hosses. Thar’s tracks, too, that lead right up to that winder thar.”
“Good work,” complimented Bindloss. “What beats me, though, is how two of them happened to be tied down in the house.”
“Three of ’em I trailed up to the winder. One of ’em went away in a hurry, but t’other two didn’t. I reckon mebby they aire the two fellers that ye found heah. The party went south after they heard ye comin’. I reckon that’s what started ’em away. I reckon they was tryin’ to steal yer mustangs when Lieutenant Wingate put er crimp in their little picnic. Eh, Boss?”
“I reckon you’re right, Jim. He must have fought them single-handed and when they were getting the worst of it they tried to set fire to the ranch-house. I reckon we got here just in time.”
“Yep. Things do work out queer-like sometimes,” agreed the old guide. “Somebody’s comin’! They’re in a hurry, too,” he warned.
A horse came to a sliding stop just outside of the ranch-house. A rapid exchange of words followed between the rider and the cowboys, then a dust-covered, breathless cowboy clanked in.
“Gosh a-mighty! What’s broke loose now?” demanded the rancher. “Don’t tell me something else has happened. Speak up! Are you tongue-tied?”