"Yo're whistlin'," said Johnny Ramsay. The four pushed their mounts almost to the limit of their strength. At three in the morning they dismounted in a grove of singing pines. The 88 ranch buildings were a bare quarter-mile distant. They tied their horses and went forward on foot. Their plan was to enter the ranch house and take Blakely prisoner while he slept. It was a sufficiently foolhardy proceeding, for Blakely was known to be a light sleeper. And there might be more than seven men in the bunkhouse. If the scheme miscarried, and Blakely should give the alarm---- But the four men wasted little thought on that contingency. Silently they approached the dark blots that were the ranch buildings. Foot by foot they edged along between the two corrals. At the blacksmith shop they halted. To the right, and fifty or sixty yards away, was the bunkhouse. In front of them stretched the square shape of the ranch house. Loudon sat down and pulled off his boots. The others followed his example. "I'm goin' down to the bunkhouse first," Loudon whispered. "I can tell by the snores, maybe, how many we've got to count in." Loudon slid silently toward the bunkhouse. In ten minutes he was back. "Not a snore," he whispered. "I listened at each window. There ain't a sound in that bunkhouse. If the boys are gone, then Blakely's gone. There's only one window open in the ranch house. I didn't hear nothin' there, either." Leaving Johnny on guard at the back door, Loudon and the others tiptoed around the ranch house. They leaned their rifles against the wall beside the door and Loudon laid his hand on the latch. Slowly he lifted the latch and slowly, very slowly, so that it would not creak, he pushed the door open. Once inside they halted, nerves a-stretch, and ears straining to catch the slightest sound. But there was no sound. Loudon knew that there were three rooms, an office, and a wide hall in the ranch house, but where Blakely was in the habit of sleeping he did not know. While Laguerre and Chuck Morgan remained in the hall, Loudon felt his way from room to room. Still hearing no sound he grew bolder and struck a match. He found himself in the office. In company with the others he visited every room in turn. Each was empty. In one room the flickering matchlight revealed a bed. The blankets were tumbled. An alarm clock hanging on a nail above the bed had stopped at half-past two. "Blakely left yesterday, all right," said Loudon. "It takes a day an' a half for them clocks to run down. Guess he must 'a' been at Farewell after all." "Maybe some o'the boys got him," Chuck said, hopefully. "No such luck." The match went out, and Loudon scratched another, intending to light a lamp. "Put out that light!" came in a hoarse whisper from the back door. "Somebody's a-comin'." Loudon crushed the match between his fingers and hurried to the back door. Laguerre and Chuck crowded against him. "Listen!" commanded Johnny Ramsay.