“Perhaps not,” replied Bob, a little dejectedly it is true; for the longer the missing article eluded his search the greater grew his desire to find it again.
They were soon in the thick of the work. Frank was given opportunities to show how he could throw the rope, and bring a steer down. Bob, too, took a chance; and as he had been practicing diligently since his last public attempt, he “did himself proud,” as he expressed it; actually roping a big steer, and throwing the beast in a way that brought out a round of cheers from Frank and the boys.
Then Bob also assisted with the branding. The afternoon found them still at it. With hundreds of cattle to be looked over, considerable time was required to accomplish a clean sweep.
Colonel Haywood found much cause for satisfaction. His herds had increased even more than his best record; and doubtless the next few shipments would be banner ones for Circle Ranch.
Then again, the fact that he had not only recovered his missing herd, but driven the rustlers out of their long secret lair, was another cause for congratulation.
On the preceding day a couple of cowboys had been sent back over the trail, with instructions to leave their horses at the foot of the mountain ridge, and on foot follow the tracks left by the escaping herd, passing into the valley by way of the new gateway.
They were to look there for the horses of the rustlers, which it was believed must have been abandoned at the time of their flight; and should these be found they would become the property of Circle Ranch as spoils of war.
The afternoon was fairly well along when the two saddle boys, being tired of the sights and sounds marking the grand round-up, decided to gallop a few miles away over the plain.
“There’s a lone pilgrim heading this way, Frank; and he’s on foot too, which I take it is some queer out in this country,” Bob remarked, pointing as he spoke.
“Oh! I don’t know,” his comrade said, “because sometimes Indians don’t all happen to be riders like the Apaches and Comanches, you know.”
“It sure is, or my eyes deceive me,” Frank went on; “and what’s more, perhaps we happen to know him, too.”
“Do you mean Havasupai, the old Moqui, Frank?”
“That man walks like him,” the prairie boy continued; “and see, he’s making gestures to us right now. I guess he’s recognized us all right. Trust an Indian’s eyes for knowing a friend as far as he can see him.”