"I reckon he means the quicksands shift—is that it, Lanky?" asked Billee Dobb.
"That's it—yep! A place that may be safe to cross to-night may be the most dangerous in the mornin', or even in less time."
"Oh, so the creek is going to favor us after all!" exclaimed Bud. "If it's as treacherous as that it will keep those Greasers on the far side."
"Not altogether," said Billee. "They may have just enough fool luck to strike a safe place and get over here."
"Well, if they come we'll be ready for 'em!" grimly said Nort, and the others nodded in accord with this sentiment.
Then, as there was nothing else to do for the present, they watched the actions of the Mexicans—actions that were not so strange and mysterious as they had been before Bud hit upon the right solution.
And that it was a correct guess no one could doubt who watched the sheep herders. With their long, thin poles they went up and down the bank of the stream, thrusting the ends into the mud, or whatever formed the bottom of Spur Creek. At times, as I have said, the Mexicans would wade out, perhaps until the water came as high as their middle, in order to thrust their poles farther out into the stream. But when a man thus waded another stood near with ready lariat.
"They're taking no chances on being caught as the horse was," said Nort.
"Right-o!" exclaimed his brother.
The sheep men, however, seemed to find so many places where there were quicksands—or indications of them—in the vicinity of the place just across from the fort—that they soon moved more than a mile down stream. That is, some of them did. Others moved up, the party separating and leaving a few men guarding the sheep.