“No,” answered the officer.
“Too bad! I heard the colonel was all-fired mad; says if his stock is raided ag’in, he’ll git up a posse, sure.”
Talking of posses always annoyed the veteran policeman, for it implied an inability on the Rangers’ part to enforce law and order. His deeply bronzed face became suddenly stern.
“We don’t need any help on the job,” he growled in reply. “If you run across the colonel tell him from me that the Texas Rangers will soon clean up this bunch!”
“I certainly hope you do, Sergeant; otherwise it may keep a whole lot of people away from this town.”
“Sylvester could do better without that kind of citizen,” retorted the officer. “Come ahead, boys.”
After riding around the town-site for a short time, occasionally halting either to watch the various operations or to talk with some of the busy workers, the scouting party headed toward the “Rio Grande.” For miles the horses pounded over an undulating country dotted with thick clumps of timber. And on this grassy range they came across great herds of cattle, the property of Colonel Sylvester.
One moment their forms glistened in the bright clear sunlight, the next were softened by the shadows of the swiftly flying clouds.
The two Ramblers had often ridden in the midst of great herds of longhorns on the Wyoming plains, but this experience was an entirely new one to Don Stratton. He found it hard to repress an uneasy feeling. Hundreds of cattle lifted up their heads to gaze inquiringly toward them. Some began to paw the ground belligerently; from various directions came hoarse bellowings. Everywhere, along their course, animals were sent scampering away, and these little currents, setting others into motion, made Don fully realize what a fearful, irresistible force these cattle would make in a wild stampede across the plains.
Several times he stood up in his stirrups to look earnestly over the backs of the vast army of animals that completely hemmed them in.