"It isn't fenced yet, and the Indians don't recognise such ownership, anyway." "But they must have known I was coming back. No one would throw away such choice venison as that was." Ralph heaved a sigh. "I wish I was a man,--I'd go after that redskin in short order, and make him either give up the game or bring him down with my gun." "If you shot him you'd bring on a regular war, more than likely. But if you wish, we can follow this track for a stretch, and look for father at the same time." Ralph was more than willing to do this--anything to learn what had really become of his game, and so they continued up the river bank for the best part of half a mile. Here they came to a creek, leading directly west, and saw that the footprints followed this new water-course. Along the creek the way was rocky and uneven, and it was plain to see where the deer had been dragged along. Ralph was going on, with his eyes bent to the trail, when suddenly his brother caught him by the arm, bringing him to a halt. In silence Dan pointed to the opposite side of the creek, at a distance a hundred feet farther up the water-course. "It's Hank Stiger, the half-breed!" burst in a low tone from Ralph's lips. "And see, he is tying my deer fast to his pony." "You are right, Ralph." "I'm not going to let him get away in this fashion!" went on the younger lad, excitedly. "He's got to give up that meat, or I'm going to know the reason why." "Don't be rash. Hank Stiger is a bad man to deal with." "Are you going to let him go without doing anything?" demanded Ralph. "I'm sure you wouldn't if it was your deer!" he added, bitterly. "No, we'll talk to him and put our claim as strongly as we can. But be careful, that's all." With this caution Dan ran along the bank of the creek until he reached the ford where the half-breed had crossed. He went over, with Ralph at his heels and both boys were within easy speaking distance of Hank Stiger before the latter discovered them. "Hi there, Stiger! what are you doing with that deer?" demanded Dan, as he came closer, with his gun in both hands across his breast. At the sound of the boy's voice the half-breed turned quickly and his repulsive reddish-brown face fell sullenly. He was a short, stocky fellow, with a tangled head of hair and wolfish eyes which betrayed the Comanche blood that flowed in his veins from his mother's side. "Who are you?" demanded the man, hardly knowing what to say, so completely had he been taken by surprise. "I am Dan Radbury, as you know very well. This is my brother Ralph, and he shot the deer you are carrying off." "Not much!" ejaculated the half-breed. "I brung that deer down myself--shot him through the neck." "It's not so!" burst out Ralph. "The deer is mine, I brought him down over in the pecan grove on the river."