They did so, returned to their horses, satisfied that the flat harbored no life. They mounted, rode across the open, pulled up beside the corral. “She’s been used recent.” Robin pointed to fresh cattle-signs. His roving eye lit on fresh charred wood. “Been some iron work.” Tex nodded. Both were grown silent, wary. That hidden place, the fire-sign, the trampled floor of the corral told a definite story. No range rider needed pictures to illustrate that tale. They rode on to the cabins. By the spring where the earth was moist they found fresh horse tracks, shod horses, leading both in and out. Tex squinted at the ground. “That was yesterday,” he stated with conviction. “Let’s see how the shack is fixed for use.” Looking first into the brush-hidden building they discovered it to be larger than it looked. It was a stable with room for two horses and all the rest of the space in one end packed with hay, bunch grass cut with a sickle. The marks of the haying were plain on the nearby sward. They grinned at each other and walked over to the house. A pile of fresh-cut wood beside a clay and stone fireplace. A single bunk in each of two corners, filled with pine needles pressed to the shape of a man’s body. The earthen floor marked by the pointed heels of riding boots. Otherwise it contained nothing of significance. A rude, bare shelter with cold ashes on the hearth. They went outside. “I wonder what she spells?” Tex murmured. “We might find out. Maybe some _hombre’s_ startin’ a cow camp, an’ craves privacy,” Robin smiled. “Maybe this is where Mark an’ Thatcher are gettin’ in some good licks on the Block S. I’d sure like to know.” But it was not on the cards that Robin should learn what he wanted to know in the immediate future. They talked a minute or two longer. It was mid-afternoon. They had ridden far. It was a cold day and night would be colder. Finding the cabin they sought in that network of canyons was a slim chance now, would be merely a gracious smile of fortune. Only those who haunted the Bad Lands could say where each spring and meadow and deserted cabin stood. Even they might not always find such spots as they sought. “We might have passed within a hundred yards of this more’n once an’ never seen it,” Tex remarked. “I’d say this building was done last year. Funny none of our riders come on it. The Pool worked this country last spring, too.” “There aren’t ten men in Montana,” Robin said, “that know every hole in the Bad Lands. Likely enough,” he snorted, “Shinin’ Mark would lead a circle right past here, wouldn’t he?” “It’s a right good spot,” Tex drawled. “Central location. You bet. Halfway between Boiler Bottom an’ Cow Island. Yeah--for stuff that was missed in the breaks on round-up----”