“So you've corralled Silvermane? Well, Jack, if he doesn't jump over the cliff he's ours. He can't get off any other way. How many horses with him?”
“We had no chance to count. I saw at least twelve.”
“Good! He's out with his picked band. Weren't they all blacks and bays?”
“Yes.”
“Jack, the history of that stallion wouldn't make you proud of him. We've corralled him by a lucky chance. If I don't miss my guess he's after Bolly. He has been a lot of trouble to ranchers all the way from the Nevada line across Utah. The stallions he's killed, the mares he's led off! Well, Dave, shall we thirst him out, or line up a long corral?”
“Better have a look around to-morrow,” replied Dave. “It'll take a lot of chasing to run him down, but there's not a spring on the bench where we can throw up a trap-corral. We'll have to chase him.”
“Mescal, has Bolly been good since Silvermane came down?”
“No, she hasn't,” declared Mescal, and told of the circumstance.
“Bolly's all right,” said Billy Naab. “Any mustang will do that. Keep her belled and hobbled.”
“Silvermane would care a lot about that, if he wanted Bolly, wouldn't he?” queried Dave in quiet scorn. “Keep her roped and haltered, I say.”