The cattleman insisted on their coming again. “Because,” explained Mr. Duncan, with a rather suspicious twinkle in his eye, “I want to know how this detective work of yours turns out.”
“We’ll certainly drop around and tell you,” cried Bob, heartily.
Then began a long, tedious march over high ridges where nature seemed to have put up many barriers, not only to endanger the safety but also to wear out the patience of unwary travelers. The young Cree, however, proved himself to be a most excellent guide. No difficulty was too great for him to overcome; and, as little time was lost in detours, the ranch-house for which they were seeking came into view long before Larry Burnham had expected.
The building rested in a broad, grass-covered valley almost midway between the hills. And on nearer approach its rather neglected appearance became strikingly evident.
But the boys, weary with their long ride, paid no attention to this. They were too eager to meet the owner, and then continue on their long journey southward to the border. A great disappointment awaited them, however.
Oscar Lawton, they were informed by several men lounging about, was miles away on the open range. And none could state the exact time of his return.
“Oh, this is perfectly awful!” cried Larry Burnham, in exasperation. “Won’t it ever end?”
“Jed Warren!” exclaimed one of the men, in answer to a question. “No; we don’t know nothin’ about Jed Warren. What in thunder are you fellers expectin’ to do—ketch up with that there scarlet jacket?”
“Our expectations cannot be measured in words,” drawled Larry.
“Is there another ranch near by?” asked Bob.