"Then you're going to track Red?" asked the youngster, in surprise.
"Surest thing you know, kid. We've not only got to trail him, but we've got to get back our ponies!" rejoined Jennings. "If it should get out how Red tricked us, and then we didn't recover the cayuses, the Mounted Scouts would never be able to hold down the gun men, horse thieves and outlaws ever again.
"It's the knowledge that the Mounted Scouts never let up when they want a man that makes 'em feared!"
"That's what!" chimed in Shaw. "You're working for the honor of the Mounted Scouts now, not merely for Uncle Sam, Scotty. Remember, if you get done to death, there'll be another to take up the task from where you dropped."
This forceful explanation of the simple but unrelenting code of the Service impressed the youngster as nothing else could, and he grew silent in contemplation of the dangers entailed.
Of all the Outlaws who made the "Bad Lands" their hiding place, dashing forth to raid an isolated settlement, rob a bank or hold up a train, there was none whose name caused such terror or who had such a reputation for daredevil fearlessness as Red Rogers.
It had taken the Mounted Scouts three years of ceaseless trailing to run him down—and the presence of a full squad to effect his capture.
Indeed, his arrest had done more to inspire a wholesome respect for the Mounted Scouts in the breasts of desperadoes and renegade Indians than any other of their acts.
And here the notorious bandit was back in his old haunts after serving less than five years of his life sentence—and he had given notice of his liberty by running off with three horses belonging to his mortal enemies, from right under their very noses.
"How do you suppose he broke jail?" asked Scotty, as the three crest-fallen men squatted cross-legged about the fire eating their beans and sipping the coffee.