Bud read:
"Two wasn't enough. This is the third and last! Leave Flume Valley!"
There was silence for a moment, and then Bud, crushing the scrawled warning in his hand, cried:
"I'd like to see 'em drive me out!"
"That's th' way to talk!" shouted Yellin' Kid. "We'll stick!"
They gathered about, discussing the sinister warning that had been sent to them in such a sensational manner. There was no clue to tell where it had come from, for no one had noticed the direction whence the arrow had been shot. The message itself was written, or, rather, printed on a piece torn from a paper bag, and the writing was in pencil. The paper was common enough in those parts, and the use of printing, in place of handwriting, would, it seemed, preclude any tracing.
"We'd better keep a double watch to-night," suggested Bud, when a hasty inspection in the vicinity of the camp had revealed no one.
"We shore will!" asserted Old Billee.
The night hours passed, a double guard watching with keen eyes for any sign of strangers approaching the reservoir or the cattle. But, in spite of all precautions, the half-expected happened.
It was toward morning, when Nort and Dick had turned out of warm beds to relieve Pocut Pete and Snake Purdee that a confused noise at the extreme end of the valley gave notice that something was wrong.