The business of ranching was taken up once more at the X Bar X, although an undercurrent of vigilance seemed to be ever present. Days of being without Star and Flash did not seem to console the boys appreciably for their loss. Rather, as each day passed they realized more and more keenly that Flash and Star had meant a great deal to them. Mr. Manley, although he did not dwell on the misfortune of losing General, as did Roy and Teddy over their ponies, yet wished heartily that he had the bronco back. Gus Tripp’s arm healed rapidly, and he was in the saddle again within a week, looking, as he said, whiter than he had since he was four years old. Otherwise he was little the worse for his experience. Of course the arm was still bandaged but Gus said that was only a reminder, “like you’d tie a string around yore finger, so’s not to fergit somethin’.” When asked what it was that he wanted to remember, he answered vaguely that it had something to do with rattlesnakes. Several times Nick and Pop had ridden into Eagles, watching for Checkered Shirt, but the man seemed to have left that part of the country. No one in town had seen him for a week. The barkeeper at Rimor’s had likewise disappeared for the time being. One morning Roy and Teddy determined to go fishing. The day was just right for the sport, cloudy, and they had hopes of bringing home a mess of mountain trout. By common consent, the boys agreed to ride to Harver’s Gully and cast along that part of Rock Run River which flowed by the spot. Having arrived at the gully, the two boys rode slowly through the grove of quakermasts where Roy had been held captive. Then they mounted the hill on the other side and looked sharply about them. “Don’t see much of importance, do you?” Teddy queried. “Not much. Guess I was mistaken. But it looked queer, I’ll tell a maverick! I thought sure we’d find something hereabouts.” “After all, it was only a hunch,” Teddy stated. “Most of the time they go wrong. Come on, let’s give the fish a whirl. Pop said they’re running fine.” Riding down the incline, the boys came once more to the river. At this time of year it was a sizable stream, the snow on the mountains, having melted and run down, had swelled it to almost a flood stage. The water hissed merrily against the lines as Teddy and Roy cast. For some minutes neither got a strike. Then Roy, who was up-stream from his brother, suddenly saw his line go taut. “Strike!” he called out, and Teddy, abandoning his own casting, ran toward Roy. “Feels like a whale!” the boy sang out. “Hand me that net, Ted!” There was haste to oblige, and Roy played his fish carefully. The trout seemed not unused to the ways of anglers, for it did not dash aimlessly about, but with short, purposeful spurts prevented the young rancher from taking in much line.