“Nothing,” said Bob—“not a sign of any one!”
“Nothing!” echoed Dave.
A crowd of wildly-excited boys was now fairly tumbling out of the ranch-house.
“Who in the world could it have been, Bob?” cried Tom Clifton, striving hard to appear calm and collected.
“It was exactly like the rumpus we heard last night,” came from Dick Travers.
“And, by Jove, the same person or persons certainly made it!” exclaimed Sam Randall.
“Much queer—no understand!” said Thunderbolt. His bronze face showed unmistakable evidence of great bewilderment.
And every one of the group was as bewildered as he—astounded at an event which had happened two nights in succession. Tongues fairly hurled questions and answers. The cattle rustler theory seemed to be exploded.
Standing in plain view, easily exposed to attack, Larry Burnham’s nerves began to shake so violently as to interfere with his articulation.
“Come on, fellows!” cried Bob, suddenly. “They can’t be very far away.”