"The wind was blowing straight from them to me, down the glen," was the reply. "The breeze carried the stuff to me and it didn't bother them at all for it floated right from them."
"Just like gas in the war," stated Snake, who had fought in France, as had several of the other husky cowboys. "That's probably what it was, too, some kind of gas they used in the war. It comes in tanks, and the Germans used to lay a shallow trench full of these cylinders, with the openings in 'em pointed our way. Then they'd open a faucet, let the gas out and the wind would blow it right in our faces. If we didn't put on gas masks it was bye-bye for us."
"But," exclaimed Nort, "Bud wasn't killed."
"No," agreed Snake with a grim smile, "and we're darn glad he wasn't. Like as not they didn't use strong gas on him. There's lots of kinds of gas, you know. I took some once to have a tooth yanked out and I laughed to beat the band. Even in war all the gas wasn't sure death. There was a kind that made you cry like you'd lost your best girl."
"That's the explanation then," decided Nort. "These fellows—call 'em rustlers for the time being—have got hold of some kind of knock-out gas and they used it on Bud."
"I sure was knocked out," murmured the young rancher.
"But what's their game?" asked Yellin' Kid in no gentle tones. "If they're rustlers why did they just hold Bud a prisoner a while and then light out and not take any stock?"
"They probably figgered the game was up," suggested Snake, "and wanted to make their get-away. Anyhow they didn't get no stock."
"Are you sure of that?" asked Bud.
By this time nearly all the other members of the searching parties had been gathered near Smugglers' Glen, the more distant ones having been signaled to by shots previously agreed upon. And from the leaders of these squads it was learned that no raid had been made during the night. The whole range had been pretty well covered.