They're corrals set up in an a'mighty hurry by
folks who hate work o' that sort anyway. An' I'd say, Jeff,
cattlemen--real cattlemen--don't dump a range down in the heart of the
Cathills, not even fer this sweet-grass you can see around, when ther's
the prairie jest outside. That is cattlemen who got no sort o' reason
fer keepin' quit of the--open plains. Then ther's bin a big drive away
north from here. Mebbe they wer' gettin' clear of this fire."
Under the influence of Bud's clear convictions all Jeff's fears
vanished. He accepted the other's admittedly better understanding of
these things all the more readily that he desired earnestly to dispel
the last shadows of his momentary doubt.
"That's so," he agreed. Then he added: "But anyway, our camp's gone."
"Yes. We'll make camp some'ere else. Meanwhiles----"
"Yes?"
"We must follow up the trail."
There was irrevocable decision in the older cattleman's tone. And his
words had the effect of startling the other.
"But--I don't see----"
"They're rustlers.
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