"It was night before last it happened," said Nails, after having
eaten more than it seemed possible for one man. "All during the
day the cattle had been restless and we boys were kept on the jump
holding 'em together. But with the darkness they quieted down and
we all turned in.

"When morning came, nary a steer was in sight. It didn't take us
long to get after 'em, and in about an hour we found them. But the
short-horned Durhams were missing."

"The best cattle in the herd," interrupted Mr. Wilder.

"Just what Pete said, but not in the same words," grinned Nails.

"But how do you know they were stolen?" asked Bill. "Perhaps they
only wandered off. You said the herd had been restless."

"A hundred head don't all go together," replied the cowboy.
"Besides, after looking around, we found the hoofprints of seven
ponies."

"Which way did they drive?" demanded the ranchman.

"Toward old Mex. But I reckon that's only a bluff. It's my idea
the headquarters of this gang are right in these mountains,
somewhere. Pete thinks so, too. That's why he set the pool as the
meeting place. There's an old trail he knows and he wants to
strike it, you agreeing of course," he added, looking toward the
ranchman.