He straightened, his right hand falling to the butt of his Colt. But presently his grip relaxed and he reached out slowly for his rope. "There's no one on him," he murmured in surprise. Without turning his head, Jessup made an odd, throaty sound of acquiescence. "He's saddled, though," he muttered a moment later, and also began taking down his rope. Straight toward them along that moonlit pathway came the flying horse, head down, stirrups of the empty saddle flapping. Buck held his rope ready, and when the animal was about a hundred feet away he spurred suddenly to the right, whirling the widening loop above his head. As it fell accurately about the horse's neck the animal stopped short with the mechanical abruptness of the well-trained range mount and stood still, panting. Slipping to the ground, Bud ran toward him, with Stratton close behind. The strange cayuse, a sorrel of medium size, was covered with foam and lather, and as Jessup came close to him he rolled his eyes in a frightened manner. "It's Rick's saddle," said Bud in an agitated tone, after he had made a hasty examination. "I'd know it anywhere from--that--cut--in--" His voice trailed off into silence and he gazed with wide-eyed, growing horror at the hand that had rested on the saddle-skirt. It was stained bright crimson, and Buck, staring over his shoulder, noticed that the leather surface glistened darkly ominous in the bright moonlight. Slowly the boy turned his head and looked at Stratton. His face was lint-white, and the pupils of his eyes were curiously dilated. "It's Rick's saddle," he repeated dully, and shuddered as he stared again at his blood-stained hand. Buck's own fingers caught the youngster's shoulder in a reassuring grip, and his lips parted. But before he had time to speak a sudden volley of shots rang out ahead of them, so crisp and distinct and clear that instinctively he stiffened, his ears attuned for the familiar, vibrant hum of flying bullets. CHAPTER VII RUSTLERS Swiftly the echoes of the shots died away, leaving the still serenity of the night again unruffled. For a moment or two Stratton waited expectantly; then his shoulders squared decisively. "I reckon it's up to us to find out what's going on down there," he said, turning toward his horse. Jessup nodded curt agreement. "Better take the sorrel along, hadn't we?" he asked. "Sure." Buck swung himself lightly into the saddle, shortening the lead rope and fastening it to the horn. "I was thinking of that." Five minutes later they pulled up in front of a small adobe shack nestling against a background of cottonwoods that told of the near presence of the creek. The door stood open, framing a black rectangle which proclaimed the emptiness of the hut, and with scarcely a pause the two rode slowly on, searching the moonlit vistas with keen alertness.