“Who do you suppose could have fired those pistol shots and made such awful yells?” cried Tom. “It sounded like a dozen men, at least, eh, fellows?”
“Cattle rustlers, of course,” snapped Larry, his voice still unsteady. “Now maybe you won’t believe what Teddy Banes told us!”
Bob Somers stared at the depths of the fire thoughtfully.
“Cattle rustlers usually follow up the steers, don’t they?” he asked. “Yet it’s mighty certain no horsemen came through that woods.”
“One of the strangest mysteries we ever ran into!” said Dick.
“What nearly ran into me was no mystery,” commented Larry, decidedly.
“But why are we standing around doing nothing?” cried Sam. “Let’s reconnoiter.”
“Of course,” agreed Tom. “Come ahead, fellows; hustle for torches.”
“Much queer,” interrupted Thunderbolt. “Never me see anything like it. I run into woods; I see flash of pistol many times. Then I make big jump. Four—five cow come straight. I say: ‘Thunderbolt, you gone!’ I make another jump. I say: ‘You killed, Thunderbolt!’ Ugh! Him pass me this close.”
The young Indian, holding his hands up, indicated a space of about a foot.