“How’d you lose your hat, Sam?” she queried.
“Shot off,” replied the ranch owner, laconically. And then, in response to her eager inquiries, he told her all that had transpired in the cattle corral.
“Land sakes! How many of them do you suppose there were?” she asked, as the narration of the exciting incidents of the stampede, the disappearance of the mysterious spectre and the shooting was concluded.
“There must have been four or five, at least, judging from the number of openings there were in the fence,” answered Pinky, eager to take part in the conversation.
But his remark was ignored in the attention given to Deadshot.
“How many did you see riding through the yard, Mrs. Bowser?” he asked.
“Only one.”
“Which means the gang has split up,” declared Sandy.
“Oh, you can’t tell anything by that,” asserted the ranchman. “The fellow may have been cutting through to join the rest of his bunch. Just stow your saddlebags with grub, shells and cartridges, then look to your guns. We must be off with the first break of day.”
In obedience, the cowpunchers set about making their preparations for the pursuit, while the ranchman and his wife crossed the yard to their home.