“I shall not forget your words; what you said has great influence with me, and you need not be surprised if I bid adieu to Wyoming within a week or a few days.”

“It can’t be too soon for your own safety, much as we shall regret to lose your company.”

CHAPTER XIV.

Unwelcome callers.

Although Budd Hankinson and Grizzly Weber were removed from the scene of the events described, the night was not to pass without their becoming actors in some stirring incidents.

Ordinarily they would have spent the hours of darkness at the ranch of their employer, for the immense herds of cattle, as a rule, required no looking after.  The ranges over which they grazed were so extensive that they were left to themselves, sometimes wandering for many miles from the home of their owner.  They might not be seen for days and weeks.  Their brands and the universal respect in which such proof of proprietorship was held prevented, as a rule, serious loss to the owners.

But the date will be recognized by the reader as one of a peculiarly delicate nature, when men were obliged to look more closely after their rights than usual.

The couple, therefore, rode behind the cattle to the foothills, along which they were expected to graze for an indefinite time.  Hustlers were abroad, and the occurrences of the previous day had inflamed the feeling between them and the cowmen.  It was not unlikely that, having been beaten off, some of them might take the means of revenging themselves by stealing a portion of the herd.

Budd and Weber dismounted after reaching the foothills, and, without removing the saddles from their horses, turned them loose to graze for themselves.  No fear of their wandering beyond recall.  A signal would bring them back the moment needed.

The hardy ranchers seated themselves with their backs against a broad, flat rock, which rose several feet above their heads.  The bits were slipped from the mouths of their horses, so as to allow them to crop the succulent grass more freely, while the men gave them no attention, even when they gradually wandered beyond sight in the gloom.

“Times are getting lively in these parts,” remarked Weber, as he filled his brierwood and lit it; “this thing can’t go on forever; the rustlers or cowmen have got to come out on top, and I’m shot if one can tell just now which it will be.”

“There can only be one ending,” quietly replied his companion, whose pipe, being already lit, was puffed with the deliberate enjoyment of a veteran; “the rustlers may stir things up, and I s’pose they’ve got to get worse before they get better, but what’s the use?  It’s like a mob or a riot; the scamps have things their own way at first, but they knuckle under in the end.”

“I guess you’re right; that was bad business yesterday; I shouldn’t wonder if it ended in the young folks moving East again with their mother, whose heart is broke by the death of her husband.”