"All right. I guess you have got the nerve to do it. I can't say as much for the rest of the bunch. You come along with me, now, and get your supper. After that you may return if you want to. Big-foot, you and Curley stay here until the Pinto gets back. Better keep busy. You may stumble upon something before you know it."
The two cowboys did not appear to be any too well pleased with the task assigned to them, but they obeyed orders without protest.
The evening had grown quite dark by the time the cowmen had finished their supper. All had been discussing the strange disappearance of Stacy Brown. It did not seem to surprise them. They had expected trouble when they reached the vicinity of the adobe church. They had had little else during the time they had been in the camp.
"Send Curley and Big-foot in," directed the foreman after Tad had announced his readiness to return to the church.
"It's not at all necessary," answered Tad.
"No; I have decided to let Big-foot go back after he has eaten. He can remain with you until ten-thirty, when he takes his trick on guard. Then the rest of you may go out if you wish. It isn't fair to leave the Pinto there alone all night. If I change my plans I'll send out Master Ned or Walter. Run along now, Tad."
The lad mounted his pony and galloped slowly out for his long vigil. He was greatly disturbed over the loss of Chunky. Yet he could not bring himself to believe that great harm had come to the boy.
"Nary a thing. Plenty of funny noises inside the shack. Kinder gives a fellow the creeps; that's all."
"You are to come back and remain with me until your watch, I believe, Big-foot."
"Nice job you've cut out for me," answered the cowman.
"I had nothing to do with it. It's the foreman's order," answered Tad.
"Better bring a lantern with you. We may need it before the night is over."
"All right," answered Big-foot, swinging into his saddle. After the cowmen had left, Tad walked out a little way from the church and sat down in the sand. He was within easy hearing of the place in case anyone should call out.
It was a lonely spot. Tad had not sat there long before the noises that the cowmen had spoken of began again.
"Bats," he said. "I can hear them flying about me. I hope none of them hit me in the face. I've heard they do that sometimes."