They spurred on over the hill, following the old road. Darkness came down before they reached the border, and they rode slowly, listening for sounds of the herd.
“How big was the bunch of cattle?” asked Cleve.
“He didn’t say,” replied Ike. “He just said it was a big bunch.”
Big Medicine swore at the darkness as they moved along. Unless they ran into the herd there was no chance of finding them. It would be several hours before moonlight, and there was a possibility of the rustlers being able to cross the border in the dark.
Mile after mile they followed the border, working westward, but they saw no cattle. It was too dark for them to detect the trail of a big herd, even if the cattle left tracks on that hard ground. They swung back, working slowly, and passed the point where they had come down.
Midnight came and found them still hunting. It was moonlight now, but they were little better off.
“It’s no use,” declared Big Medicine. “They’ve got all the best of it, so I’ll have to swallow the dose and go home.”
“Kinda looks like it,” agreed McGurk. “I’ll get the boys out early in the mornin’ and swing down this way. Good night.”
He rode away toward the west, while the Tumbling H crew disgustedly turned their weary horses and went back toward Hawk Hole.
“It is some of Torres’ work,” declared Big Medicine. “If I ever get a chance I’ll break his neck. He thinks he is safe in running my cattle across to the Rancho Sierra, but some day I’ll go down there and make him pay for every head he stole.”