"No tied here," Injun answered, which was plainer to see than his reason
for knowing that they were not.

Whitey was now greatly puzzled and, he had to confess to himself, not a
little alarmed. But as the next impatient question was on his lips he
stopped short. A cool breeze had sprung up, and was wafting aside the
cloud-like fog. A rift in the fog disclosed a portion of the trestle
bridge. And, hanging from it, with noosed lariats around their necks,
were three limp, ghastly figures.

In horror, Whitey clutched Injun's arm, and gasped, "The bandits!"

Injun looked stolidly at the horrible sight, as for thousands of years
his people had looked on death. "Uh," he said and pointed toward the
water tank. "Walk marks go that way. No come back."




CHAPTER V

BUNK-HOUSE TALK


About noon that day two sad boys rode into the Bar O Ranch, leading
three tired-looking broncos, who had been put through some severe paces
since early morning. One of the boys and all the horses were hungry, but
the other boy had little desire for food. Whitey had been up against
some rough adventures in the West. This was his first taste of the
tragedy that was frequent, and often necessary in regulating the affairs