At five in the afternoon they forded the Black River at a point
where it crossed the state line from New Mexico, and at dusk camped at
the base of the Guadalupe Mountains. At daybreak they took up the
chase, grim and merciless, and shortly afterward they passed the
smoldering remains of a camp fire, showing that the pursued had been
in a great hurry, for it should have been put out and masked. At noon
they left the mountains to the rear and sighted the Barred Horeshoe,
which they approached.
The owner of the ranch saw them coming, and from their appearance
surmised that something was wrong.
"What is it?" He shouted. "Rustlers?"
"Nope. Murderers. I wants to swap cayuses quick," answered Buck.
"There they are. Th' boys just brought `em in. Anything else I can
let yu have?"
"Nope," shouted Buck as they galloped off.
"Somebody's goin' to get plugged full of holes," murmured the ranch
owner as he watched them kicking up the dust in huge clouds.
After they had forded a tributary of the Rio Penasco near the
Sacramento Mountains and had surmounted the opposite bank, Hopalong
spurred his horse to the top of a hummock and swept the plain with
Pete's field glasses, which he had borrowed for the occasion, and
returned to the rest, who had kept on without slacking the pace. As he
took up his former position he grunted, "War-whoops," and unslung his
rifle, an example followed by the others.
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