"We figured they were a regular gang, scattered up and down, hurrying the stuff along by relays, and likely taking it down in old Mexico to dispose of," said Caney. "Then we hear that saddles are being missed up in Socorro County too. So Hales and me gets our wise heads together. Here is our hugeous hunch: This is lonesome country here, the big roads dodge the river from San Marcial to Rincon, 'count of it being so rough, so thieves wouldn't go by the Jornada nor yet take the big west-side roads through Palomas or Hillsboro. No, sir. They just about follow the other side of the river, where nobody lives, as far down as Engle Ferry. There or thereabouts they cross over, climb up Mescal Cañon and ooze out through the rough country east of Caballo Mountain. Then they either come through by MacCleod's and cross the river here again, or they keep on down below Rincon to Barela Bosque. Maybe they save up till they get a wagonload of saddles, cover them up with a tarp or maybe some farm truck, and drive whistlin' down the big road to El Paso." "Anyhow," said Hales, "the Cattle Association has offered an even thousand for information leading to conviction, and we're going to watch the passes and water holes--here and at Hadley Spring and Palomas Gap. If you help get the thousand, you help spend it. That's right, ain't it, boys?" The others nodded. "Go with you, you mean?" "No. You stay here--so long as you're here anyway--while we ride up the line. That way, one of us can go on and watch Mescal. We was one man shy before," said Caney. "Does it go?" "It goes." "Take your silly location papers then, and we'll ride. We're going across to have a look for tracks in Deadman first." He jerked his chin toward a notch in the hills, halfway between the head of Apache Cañon and the head of Redgate. "Then we'll go up by MacCleod's Tank and on through to the Jornada and up the east side of Timber Mountain." "Me, I reckon I'll post my notice and then go mail the copies to the recorder's office," said Adam. "Thank'ee, gentlemen. _Adios!_" * * * * * Jody Weir pulled up his horse behind the first hill. "Fellers, that man has made a strike! Didya see his face--all sweat and dust? Adam Forbes is not the man to rustle like that in this broiling sun unless he was worked up about something. He didn't act natural, nohow. He drawls his talk along, as a usual thing--but to-day he spoke up real crisp and peart. I tell you now, Forbes has found the stuff!" "I noticed he didn't seem noways keen for us to go help post his papers," said Caney.