“That’s so. I didn’t think of that,” returned the owner of the Double Cross. And from the tone of his voice, his men understood that the memory had appreciably tempered his regret at being obliged to await the coming of day before picking up the trail.
Quieter and quieter were the cattle in the raided corral becoming, a sign the cowpunchers interpreted to mean that the thieves had taken their departure after the last shot. Consequently when the end of an hour brought no fresh outbreak, the ranchman ordered his men to return to the horse corral and gather together the things they would require when they took up the pursuit.
To their amazement, when they rode into the yard, there was not a light to be seen in either the home or bunkhouse.
“You don’t suppose they’ve run off with the missus, too?” suggested Pinky, in alarm.
But their anxiety as to the safety of Mrs. Bowser was allayed even as the cowboy spoke.
“Who goes there?” demanded a voice, meant to be stern, but in which there was an unmistakable tremor, from the direction of the home front door.
“It’s all right, Sarah. It’s the boys and I,” hastily replied her husband.
“Glory be! I’ve been scared almost out of my wits,” exclaimed the woman.
“Scared?” repeated the men, in surprise.
“Yes. Just after Deadshot had left, I heard some one ride into the yard. Thinking it was either him or one of you, I rushed to the door. ‘Get inside if you don’t want a bullet in your head!’ shouted a voice.”