When everything had been packed and they were ready to depart, Ned laid the rusty gun of the wolf-herder on the ground. "There's your property, Harkness," he remarked casually, "just as I promised. And I want to say in parting company with you, that I think you're lucky to get about half your pelts, after losing the whole outfit. Of course, we don't expect you to thank us for saving half a loaf; but we'll be looking back as we leave here to see how you get on. And, Harkness, I wouldn't be in any too big a hurry to step over to where I laid your gun. So-long!" The man said never a word in reply but if looks could kill, surely Ned must have met his finish then and there, to judge from the black scowl that settled on the heavy face of the wolf man. In this fashion, then, they started out on what they hoped would be their last day's journey before arriving at the ranch of Harry's uncle. All of the scouts seemed to be feeling particularly merry on this bright morning. Perhaps it was because of the clever way in which they had escaped from the many perils that had lain in wait to ambush them since leaving the Coast. "We're well out of gunshot distance by now," observed Jack, "and he's still working with his pelts, so it doesn't seem as though we'd have any trouble with that Harkness. Of all the tough looking characters I've ever run across, he sure takes the cake. I don't believe there could be anything worse made." At that Amos was heard to chuckle. "Oh! you think so, do you, Jack?" he remarked with lofty scorn, "just wait till you glimpse my awful dad, and then you can talk. He's a holy terror! Why, even the yellow curs in the town streets take to running with their tails between their hind legs when they see him coming along. His looks and his fog-horn voice have carried him through many a tight place; but there's one hole he always sticks in. My dad is as good as a whole regiment, to make men shake in their boots; but--" and again did the kid puncher pause in that strange way, while a mysterious smile crept over his dark face, as though certain recollections gave him more or less amusement. Ned's curiosity had been aroused to a mild extent, but he would not ask questions, preferring to wait for time to unravel the mystery connected with these vague hints on the part of Amos Adams. A short time later and they had lost all track of the previous night's camp in the hazy distance. And from that time forward, the scouts were interested only in what lay ahead; for somewhere far off they knew was to be found the cattle ranch to which they were bound and where a warm welcome, undoubtedly, awaited them, after their perilous hike across burning deserts, towering mountain ridges, and the valley with the evil name. CHAPTER IX. THE HOMING PIGEON.