When at length they were ready to turn in, they rolled themselves
up in their blankets and formed a circle about the fire.
Without adventure they passed the night, sleeping till long after
sunrise, there being no occasion for getting an early start.
Indeed as they ate breakfast they were debating whether to push on
or stay where they were and set a bear trap when they were
surprised to hear Mr. Wilder's name called.
Shouting in return, they jumped to their feet, trying to see who
had hailed them.
"It's some one on horseback. I can hear the click of horseshoes on
the stones," declared Larry.
"Some one from the ranch probably," asserted Mr. Wilder, and the
next moment his opinion was confirmed by Horace, who had run to the
trail and was returning, yelling:
"It's Nails! It's Nails!"
"He's one of our boys," explained Bill to the chums. "What do you
suppose he can want, father?"
"Wait till he tells us. There are so many possibilities, it's no
use trying to guess."
Their suspense was short-lived, for in a few moments the cowboy
called Nails dashed into the basin, his pony in a lather.
Realizing from this condition of his mount that something serious
was amiss, Mr. Wilder asked:
"What's wrong, Nails?"
"Cattle thieves!" gasped the cowboy. "Cross-eyed Pete said to get
everybody you could and meet him at the Witches' Pool to-morrow
morning.
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