in different directions all the time. Those already branded, and
selected for training on the several ranches, were driven away in
small bunches.

The whistling outlaw went away after a day. None of the boys had
time to try to ride him down, although there was scarcely a man of
the lot who did not covet the beautiful creature.

Rhoda and her friends did about as they pleased while the branding
was going on; only they did not ride out of the valley. Nan began
to suspect that the reason Rhoda would not lead them far from the
riverside encampment could be traced to the appearance of the
Mexican riders whom they had glimpsed coming over the old Spanish
Trail in the Blue Buttes. Nothing more had been heard of those
strangers; but Nan knew Mr. Hammond had warned his men all to keep
a sharp lookout for them.

It was when everything was cleared up and the outfits were getting
under way for their respective ranches, the last colt having been
branded, that a cowboy riding from the south, and therefore from
the direction of the Long Bow range, came tearing across the valley
toward the encampment by the cottonwood trees.

"Something on that feller's mind besides his hair, I shouldn't
wonder," observed Mr. Hammond, drawlingly, as he sat his horse
beside the group of girls ready then to turn ranchward. "Hi! Bill
Shaddock," he shouted to the Long Bow boss, "ain't that one of your
punchers comin' yonder?"

"Yes, it is, Mr. Hammond," said Bill.