"Yep. Some sport drove five cows on to the ledge an' chased 'em over the creek. That's how they work the trick. They throw the cows across where there's hard ground or rocks on our side. 'Course the rustlers didn't count none on us nosyin' along the opposite bank." "Ain't they the pups!" ejaculated Hockling. "They're wise owls," commented Johnny Ramsay. "Say, Tom, did this shootin' party look anyways familiar?" "The colour of his hoss was--some," replied Loudon. "Blakely was at the ranch last night, an' his hoss was a sorrel." "What did I tell yuh?" exclaimed Johnny Ramsay. "What did I tell yuh? That Blakely tinhorn is one bad actor." "I ain't none shore it was him. There's herds o' sorrel cayuses." "Shore there are, but there's only one Blakely. Oh, it was him all right." "Whoever it was, I'm goin' to wander over onto the 88 range to-morrow, if Red or Hock'll lend me a Winchester." "Take mine," said Hockling. "Red's throws off a little." "She does," admitted Red Kane, "but my cartridges don't. I'll give yuh a hull box." Followed then much profane comment relative to the 88 ranch and the crass stupidity of Mr. Saltoun. "I see yo're packin' a Winchester," said Loudon to Johnny Ramsay, when Hockling and Red had turned in. "Hunter's trip," explained Johnny, his eyes twinkling. "Jack Richie's got his own ideas about this rustlin', so he sent me over to scamper round the 88 range an' see what I could see. I guess I'll travel with you a spell." "Fine!" said Loudon. "Fine. I was wishin' for company. If we're jumped we'd ought to be able to give 'em a right pleasant little surprise." Johnny Ramsay rolled a cigarette and gazed in silence at the dying fire for some minutes. Loudon, his hands clasped behind his head, stared upward at the star-dusted heavens. But he saw neither the stars nor the soft blackness. He saw Kate and Blakely, and thick-headed Mr. Saltoun bending over his desk, and he was wondering how it all would end. "Say," said Johnny Ramsay, suddenly, "this here hold-up cut down on yuh from behind a rock, didn't he?" "Shore did," replied Loudon. "Which side did he fire from?" "Why, the hind side." "I ain't tryin' to be funny. Was it the left side or the right side?" "The right side," Loudon replied, after a moment's thought. "Yore right side?" "Yep." "That would make it his left side. Did yuh ever stop to think, Tom, that Blakely shoots a Colt right-handed an' a Winchester left-handed?" Loudon swore sharply. "Now, how did I come to forget that!" he exclaimed. "O' course he does." "Guess Mr. Blakely's elected," said Johnny Ramsay. "Seems likely." Early next morning Loudon and Ramsay rode northward along the bank of the Pack-saddle. They visited first the boulder a quarter of a mile below the mud-hole. Here they found empty cartridge shells, and the marks of boot-heels.