"Well, when I see that I thort I'd give him somethin' ter chase, so I hands out the west p'int, when I mean ter go ter ther east. When we start out we'll ride ter ther west until we come ter ther first draw, then foller it ter ther south until we come ter a break leadin' east, then foller that, an' we'll be fust onter ther red man's tracks." "All right," laughed Stella. "That will be a good joke on Ben. He didn't like it because he couldn't go with us." Now it will be seen that Bud's little fiction in the hearing of Ben was not the proper thing, and, as it turned out, Bud was mighty sorry for his apparently innocent fib before the end of the day, or the dawning of the next. They did as Bud planned, and when they were well out of sight and hearing of the other boys they turned to the east, and, when well out on the prairie, turned their ponies' heads to the north. As they cantered across the prairie, on which the snow was like dry sand and only about an inch deep, they could see bands of their cattle here and there pawing the snow off the grass, or "rustling" for their fodder, as the cowmen call it. "I shore believe thar's somethin' wrong on this yere range," Bud remarked, after they had gone a few miles. "Why?" asked Stella. "Somethin' wrong with ther cattle." "In what way?" "Thar ain't half enough o' them here." "Do you mean that some of them are gone?" "Yep. Thet's jest what I mean." "Strayed, probably?" "No. Stole." "Nonsense. Who could have stolen them? The Indians?" "No. I reckon not. The Injuns is keen after ponies. In the fust place thar ain't nobody what kin wear out a pony as fast as an Injun. They work their ponies ter death, starve 'em, beat ther hides off'n 'em, neglect 'em, and when they're wore out turn 'em loose fer ther wolves. Second, they kin run off a bunch o' ponies in a hurry, but they balk some at rustlin' cattle because they move so slow. If we aire shy on beeves ther white men has got 'em." "When we get back we ought to round the cattle up and count." "That's ther only way ter do it. I've got a pretty good eye fer a herd, an' it's my idee thet we're losers here, an' that ther rustlers is gittin' rich off'n us." About noon Bud pulled in his horse, and examined the snowy ground carefully. He had struck a trail. Winding across the prairie in a northeasterly direction was a broad trail, the tracks of many cattle and horses. "Here we are," said Bud. "Thar's whar some o' our cattle and several ponies have passed." He got down to the ground, and, stooping over the trail, regarded it carefully. Suddenly he straightened up. "This is not an Injun trail," he said. "It isn't?" asked Stella. "No. Here are the tracks of cattle, an' on top of them those of horses ridden by white men." "How do you know they were not Indians?" "Here's an impression o' a horseshoe, an' here's another o' a different size. These were made by animiles ridden by white men."