Entering the brake at a point farther down-stream Carl Alvin led the advance so skilfully that nowhere were they forced by barricades of green to retrace their steps.
Probably no one among the party was more relieved to see the thicket opening out than George Parry, who had charge of the burro. The clumsy, intractable animal either halted with annoying frequency or managed to get his stocky little form tangled up in the vegetation.
“That was certainly tough work!” he puffed as they rode out on higher ground.
“I should say so,” laughed Cranny. His twinkling eyes sought Don’s. “Fun, I call it.”
“Well, I’m generous enough to let you have all my share,” chuckled the New Orleans lad.
The country through which the travelers rode during the next few hours was of a diversified nature. Sometimes it was over sandy ridges crowned with Yucca or mesquite, at others along rolling stretches of country which extended for miles and miles.
Carl Alvin explained that near the Rio Grande the ground was mostly very rough, with only a few irrigation farms along the river.
“I should think outlaws would have an easy time of it out here,” remarked Don.
“Some years ago they did, an’ then there was plenty of ’em,” declared Jack Stovall. “Believe me, the Texas Rangers have made western and southern Texas a white man’s country. But naturally ye can’t expect us to clear ’em all out.”
“Do you think you’ll round up this new bunch of rustlers?” asked Bob.