"Wolf? No!" chuckled Bud. "Don't let Babe hear you say that. It's him—singing! Lots of the men do it."
As Bud's whisper died away, the assistant foreman let his voice soar from a whine into a more or less of a roar, as he intoned:
"Oh, sing to me not of the joys of a city
Where innocent cowboys are left in a trance.
Give me a hoss, an' some room to do ridin',
When I am daid bring me back to the ranch!"
"Does he get that way often?" asked Dick in a whisper, as the cowboy began on the second verse of what promised to be a lengthy song.
"More or less!" answered Bud. "The cowboys sing a lot, and some haven't half bad voices. The songs, too, are corkers, some of 'em. They sing 'cause it's lonesome ridin' line, and then, too, it seems to sort of soothe the cattle. Dad has told us, lots of times, where a stampede has been stopped just by the bunch singing songs."
"Good idea," commented Nort. "Oh, but this is the life for me!" he chanted.
"Only this ride isn't lasting long enough," said Dick. "That's the camp, down in there; isn't it?" he asked his cousin, pointing ahead toward where, in the light of the newly risen moon, could be observed some white objects.
"Those are the professors' tents," declared Bud. "We got here sooner than I expected. Talking to you chaps made the time pass quickly."
"What do you think of those fellows, anyhow?" asked Nort, in a low voice of his cousin. It was evident he referred to the two scientists who had been attacked that afternoon.
"I don't know what to think," admitted Bud, frankly. "I never heard of anything in this part of the country, more valuable than gold, that was worth prospecting after. There hasn't even any gold been found, as far as I know, though there were rumors that once a prospector made a lucky strike about ten miles from here. But these men do seem to have something they're afraid will be taken from them."