Broad daylight and a hint of sunshine high on the cliff-rim to the west brought him to consideration of what he had better do.  And while busy with his few camp tasks he revolved the thing in his mind.  It would not be wise for him to remain long in his present hiding-place.  And if he intended to follow the cattle trail and try to find the rustlers he had better make a move at once.  For he knew that rustlers, being riders, would not make much of a day’s or night’s absence from camp for one or two of their number; but when the missing ones failed to show up in reasonable time there would be a search.  And Venters was afraid of that.

“A good tracker could trail me,” he muttered.  “And I’d be cornered here.  Let’s see.  Rustlers are a lazy set when they’re not on the ride.  I’ll risk it.  Then I’ll change my hiding-place.”

He carefully cleaned and reloaded his guns.  When he rose to go he bent a long glance down upon the unconscious girl.  Then ordering Whitie and Ring to keep guard, he left the camp

The safest cover lay close under the wall of the canyon, and here through the dense thickets Venters made his slow, listening advance toward the oval.  Upon gaining the wide opening he decided to cross it and follow the left wall till he came to the cattle trail.  He scanned the oval as keenly as if hunting for antelope.  Then, stooping, he stole from one cover to another, taking advantage of rocks and bunches of sage, until he had reached the thickets under the opposite wall.  Once there, he exercised extreme caution in his surveys of the ground ahead, but increased his speed when moving.  Dodging from bush to bush, he passed the mouths of two canyons, and in the entrance of a third canyon he crossed a wash of swift clear water, to come abruptly upon the cattle trail.

It followed the low bank of the wash, and, keeping it in sight, Venters hugged the line of sage and thicket.  Like the curves of a serpent the canyon wound for a mile or more and then opened into a valley.  Patches of red showed clear against the purple of sage, and farther out on the level dotted strings of red led away to the wall of rock.

“Ha, the red herd!” exclaimed Venters.

Then dots of white and black told him there were cattle of other colors in this inclosed valley.  Oldring, the rustler, was also a rancher.  Venters’s calculating eye took count of stock that outnumbered the red herd.

“What a range!” went on Venters.  “Water and grass enough for fifty thousand head, and no riders needed!”

After his first burst of surprise and rapid calculation Venters lost no time there, but slunk again into the sage on his back trail.  With the discovery of Oldring’s hidden cattle-range had come enlightenment on several problems.  Here the rustler kept his stock, here was Jane Withersteen’s red herd; here were the few cattle that had disappeared from the Cottonwoods slopes during the last two years.