"There is a ford there," declared Lanky, the tall, thin cowboy.
"Any quicksands?" Nort wanted to know.
"That I can't say. The sands shift so you can't tell where they are."
"Well, there's only one thing to do," declared Bud. "Some of us have got to go down there and stop 'em from crossing. This is the first skirmish of the fight."
"We'll come with you," offered Nort and Dick.
"Hold on a minute—don't be rash," counseled Old Billee. "It'll take more'n you three lads to stop them Greasers and the sheep."
"Well, we're under your orders," Bud admitted, saluting the veteran.
"Well then, you three go," advised Billee, "and Snake and Kid will go with you. We'll bring some grub down to you."
For it might be too late to wait until after breakfast, simple as that meal was, and as quickly served as it could be. There was no time to be lost. Bud and his boy-rancher cousins realized this.
Soon they were in their saddles, riding down the creek toward where the sheep had been herded together on the southern side of the stream. There were the same bunch of Greasers—the boys easily picked out and recognized certain characters, even across the creek, which was wider here and more shallow.