"Are you thinking that perhaps we'd better get out with our nags, while
we have the chance, and leave them, while we keep up the game on foot?"
asked Bob, suspecting that his chum might be considering such a move.
"Well," remarked the other, "it stands to reason that our horses aren't
going to be of much use in the mountains. If we shook 'em now, we'd be
able to climb almost anywhere, and peek into places we'd never be able
to find as long as we stuck to our mounts. So, if you're of the same
mind, Bob, we'll try and find a place where we might rope 'em out, an'
take the chances of finding 'em again when we're done poking around."
"I hope then, none of the rustlers will run across them while we're
away," said Bob, as he looked across a deep little pool that lay just
at the foot of a very high slope; and then fastened his gaze on a
peculiarly twisted cedar that seemed to cling to the bank, half way up.
"Leave that to me, my boy," returned his chum, confidently. "I'll make
sure they leave no trail behind to catch the eye of a horseman riding
past. Besides, we're not dead sure, you know, that the rustlers have
really got a camp around these diggings. P'raps now, they just push
through the canyon to get to some other point across the divide. Or it
may be a favorite trail for them to carry off the cattle they rustle.
In some hidden valley, you see, they can change the brands; and then
openly drive the steers to a shipping station on the railroad.
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