Raquel was so upset by this evidence of cattle rustling that she forgot for the time being the more successful rustler who _had_ got away with his theft. Such killings meant thousands of dollars loss to the ranchman every year. “Well, looks like we’ll have to go huntin’ for two kinds of varmints, old Tooth,” said Raquel, as they turned their horses’ heads back towards the ranch house, “four-footed _and_ two-footed.” “Dad said all the _hoss_ thieves was cleared out,” grunted Georgie, “but I guess they left a few cattle thieves for us to clean out.” “We’ll start in the morning after the cats, unless it comes on to snow. It’s too cold to do anything else just now and it’ll give me a good chance to see something more of the range back of the ranch house.” Back at the house they found Jami with the dogs, fat, and crazy to run after their well-fed stay in town. They were barking and milling around in the kennel house. Guns were got out, cleaned and oiled. Raquel would carry her little twenty-two. Russell and Jami were going, Angel and Georgie. Mrs. Daniels made sandwiches almost as big as plates, filled with salt pork and ham of her own curing. They were all in bed and asleep by eight o’clock for Mom was to get them up at four in the morning. In the cold dark dawn Raquel slipped quietly down towards the corrals. Overhead a million stars were sparkling with a brilliance such as Eastern skies never know. Russ was roping himself a horse. The winter string were running round and round in the dark, away from the sound of his whirring rope. As Raquel came up Russ drew into the light a little foolish-faced pony. “Aw, shucks, I don’t want _you_ at all,” and it had to be done all over again. Raquel picked for herself one of Custer’s string, a swift, sturdy cow pony that would bite if it was crowded. Raquel’s rope stopped him easily as he passed, and with a swift turn around the snubbing post she had him. “You’re not a-going to bite at me, old boy.” Her caressing voice arrested the wicked little laying back of the ears, yet as her hand crept up his nose the lips curled back with a look of singular meanness. “Look out, there, Rakie, ain’t you got any sense? He’s fixin’ to bite. Drive him in the saddlin’ pen.” “You’re loco, Russ; he’s smilin’ at me, that’s all. Glad to see an old friend, aren’t you, little feller?” And indeed the pony seemed merely to be exhibiting his pleasure as Raquel quickly smoothed her saddle blanket and dropped the saddle over his back. She liked to see to saddling her own horse, the single cinch tight but an inch farther back than was customary, the blankets well forward. Then as the saddle worked looser in going down hill there would be no chafing when it was impossible to get off and readjust a blanket.