Besides the Colonel, and the two saddle boys, there were ten well armed men in the group of riders that clattered away, with the customary vim of their class, waving their hats to those who could not take part in the ride, and apparently filled with the utmost enthusiasm.
Bart Heminway was there for his advice would prove valuable under certain conditions; because the foreman was a veteran in the cattle line. Besides, he had long been known as something of a fighter, and in case they came to a pitched battle with the rustlers, his experience would be worth considerable.
Bob was naturally deeply interested in everything he saw and heard. While he had now been in the Southwest more than a year, this was his first experience in a dangerous foray against those pests of the stockmen, the cattle rustlers. And Bob had heard so much about Mendoza and his night riders that, boylike, he was anxious to actually see the clever Mexican at close quarters.
“What do you think your father will do, Frank, if we manage to find where Mendoza hangs out?” he asked his chum as they galloped along, Domino and Buckskin having little trouble in keeping up with the balance of the horses.
“That depends a good deal on what Mendoza does himself,” replied Frank. “If he’s wise enough to vamoose at sight of us, perhaps we won’t get a crack at any of the bunch. But if he tries to stand by the herd, and fight for it, I reckon there’ll be some warm doings, Bob.”
“I hope we can follow the trail; and for the life of me I can’t see how they could hide the marks of fifty head of cattle. It must take pretty fine work, Frank, to do that, don’t you think?”
“Oh! they’re up to all that sort of thing,” Frank replied. “I’ve heard some of our boys say an Indian would be clumsy at hiding tracks alongside a few of Mendoza’s best hands. But wait and see what happens, Bob; perhaps we’ve got a few fellows along just as smart at finding a trail as they are at hiding one.”
“I hope so,” Bob rejoined. “I’d just hate to have to go home like a whipped dog, that carries his tail between his legs. And Frank, don’t you remember what your father said about Thunder Mountain, and how we saw a string of horses being led into the canyon that night?”