"You'd better stay here," advised Babe. "Somebody'll have to ride herd on these steers, and I can deal with those rascals better'n you boys—though I may need your help later. Anyhow, Bud, you stay here, and herd 'em in till I get back—if I do."
"And if you don't?" asked Bud. There was a world of meaning in those few words, for cattle rustlers were desperate men.
"If I don't, ride back to the ranch an' tell the boss," spoke Babe simply, as if it was all in the day's work—or night's.
"All right," agreed Bud. He realized that though he was the son of the owner of Diamond X ranch, in this case the word of Babe exceeded even his heritage.
Turning his horse quickly, after a brief examination of his saddle girths, Babe spurred away into the haze of the cloudy moonlight, leaving the boy ranchers to guard the cattle. The animals, after their run, were content to remain quiet now, moving about a bit uneasily, and rumbling as if in protest now and then. They were all full-grown beasts, ready for the market, and valuable.
"S'pose he'll get any of 'em?" whispered Nort.
"Can't say," answered Bud, briefly. "Babe generally does get what he goes after, though." This was significant.
In silence, broken only by the occasional lowing of the cattle, the boy ranchers waited—waited for they knew not what. And then, as suddenly as an explosion, came a cry in the night—and such a cry!
An unearthly noise of long drawn out howling notes, mingled with roars, the crescendo effect ending in a peal of weird yells that were like the cries of a laughing hyena, mingled with the sardonic wails of a baboon.