Ferral peered around him then looked over the shelf into the gulch, and up toward the top of the cliff.
"Well, sink me, if this ain't the queerest business I ever ran into! Some one must be hoaxin' us."
"Why should any one do that?" asked Matt. "What have they got to gain by such foolishness?"
"I'm over my head. There's no use staying here, though, overhaulin' our jaw-tackle. Let's go on to the ranch."
"That's the ticket! If what we've seen and can't understand means anything to us, it's bound to come out."
They started back.
"Are you on good terms with your cousin, Ralph Sercomb?" Matt asked, as they walked along.
"The last time I saw him was six years ago, when I came to Hamilton to settle up my father's estate. Ralph was there, and I licked him. I can't remember what it was for, but I did it proper. He was always more or less of a sneak, but he's got one of these angel-faces, and to take his sizing offhand no one would ever think he'd do anything wrong."
"Does he live in Hamilton?"