They say Wolf Killer used to rustle cattle long ago,
till Uncle Sam put his hand down heavy on his tribe, and shut the lot
up."
"Then, if he has reason to remember everybody connected with Circle
Ranch in that way, I reckon it's just as well we don't try to let him
know we're here," remarked Bob, uneasily. "We didn't come out on this
little picnic for trouble with the reds. There they go, pushing
through the sage brush, Frank. So-long, Navajo, and good luck to you
on your hunt," waving a hand after the departing string of distant
figures.
"Our way lies yonder, along the foot of the mountains," said Frank, as
he turned his head to look toward the grim range that stood out boldly
against the skyline.
"Yes," observed his companion, as he allowed his black horse his head,
once more advancing in a Southerly direction, "and, unless all signs
fail, that's Thunder Mountain towering above the rest of the peaks."
"You're right, Bob, that's what it is; and we're going to camp at its
foot unless something goes wrong," and as he spoke Frank urged Buckskin
on again.
The yellow bronco was a true range pony. He had been taught many of
the clever tricks for which his kind are noted. A stranger would have
had a hard time keeping his seat on the back of the animal, such was
his dislike for unknown parties. He could dance almost as well as a
circus horse; and when Frank had tended the saddle herd at night, as
horse-wrangler, he was accustomed to depend on Buckskin to give ample
warning of trouble, whether in the shape of a storm, a threatened
stampede, or the presence of cattle-rustlers.
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