From the scramble of footprints near the tank, Injun picked out those of three pairs that diverged from the mass.  Injun traced these back toward the gully.  Two of the tracks were made by ordinary boots, the other by high-heeled cowboy boots.  Whitey left this part of the chase entirely to Injun, and followed, leading the ponies.

Presently Monty gave voice to a shrill neigh, and to Whitey’s surprise it was answered from the gully.  “Look out!” Whitey called softly to Injun.  “They haven’t gone.  There’s one of their horses.”

But to Whitey’s further surprise Injun paid no heed, but kept calmly on his way, and there was nothing for Whitey to do but to follow.  The gully, or little canyon, was about fifty feet deep, and the creek that ran through it about that many feet wide.  At the lowest part, near the stream, Injun paused.

“Where are their horses?” Whitey whispered.

“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 of those days.

And while Whitey was far from being a coward, as you know, the sight he had witnessed had left him a bit shaken.  He and Injun unsaddled the ponies and horses, put them in the corral, and made their way to the ranch house.  Bill Jordan and John Big Moose were in the living-room.  Bill was getting the big Indian to help him with his accounts, which always were a puzzle to him.  And this morning, after his night of merriment at the Junction, Bill was less inclined toward figures than usual.

“Well, well,” said John Big Moose, as the boys entered the room.  “You two seem to have extended your holiday to the next morning.”

“You look kinda shaky, Whitey,” said Bill “You been makin’ a night of it, too?”