This time, after they had lain down in their blankets, there was no
further alarm. Frank, from long habits of early rising on the range,
awakened just as the first faint streaks of dawn began to show in the
eastern horizon.
It required but a touch to arouse Bob; and saddling up, with packs in
place, the boys soon left the scene of their night bivouac, heading
toward the heavy growth of timber directly at the foot of the mountain.
The early morning mists concealed their movements until they had
entered among the timber; when they left they were safe from any
suspicious eye, should the bold Mexican rustler have posted any watcher
upon the side of the mountain.
Again did the saddle boys build a small fire in a hole, over which they
proceeded to cook their breakfast; while the horses cropped the grass
near by, secured by the ever useful lariats, or riatas.
"There's where this leads into a big gully," remarked Bob, later on,
pointing as he spoke to where the ground became broken.
"Yes," Frank went on, thoughtfully, "and the chances are ten to one
that it changes into a regular canyon, where the water rushes down
whenever they have one of those gushers, or cloud bursts, that come
along once in a while around here. Now, I wonder if those riders hit
it up this way?"
He jumped to his feet as he said this. Passing back and forth, Frank
seemed to be examining the ground, marking the stepping stones of the
mountain.
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