“Well, s’posin’ ’t I was out to furnish what I could.  Chances is I wouldn’t have a very big bunch in with me—­say five or six of us, jest enough to handle a few head at a time.  I’d aim to git ’em over acrost the line first shot.  Anybody would do that.  Well, s’posin’ I didn’t have a place that’d take care of very many at a time.  Feed’s pore, over there, and a hawse has got to eat.  These here hawses are in purty fair condition, and I’d aim to keep ’em in flesh whilst I was breakin’ ’em—­I’d git better prices.  And then again, mebby I wouldn’t want too many on hand at once, in case some party come along with the gall to loot ’em instead of buy ’em.

“I figger I’d be plumb content if I could take over a few at a time, and let the rest go ahead eatin’ grass here till I was ready for ’em.  The longer I could keep that up, the better I’d like it.  Same as we been doin’ at the home ranch, y’ see.  We didn’t go t’ work and haze in the hull bunch and keep ’em up, eatin’ their heads off, waitin’ till we got ready for ’em.  No, sir, we go out and bring in half a dozen, or a dozen at most and cut out what we want.  We bust them, and git more.

“I figger, Mr. Selmer, that these geezers down here have been doin’ that very same way.  They had the kid baited with that flyin’ machine, so he wouldn’t have no eyes for anything else.  And he was here, so you wouldn’t be worryin’ none about the stock.  And they’ve been helpin’ theirselves at their own convenience—­like Mary V would put it.  I dunno, but that’s the way I figger it.  And I don’t guess, Mr. Selmer, you’ll see none of yore hawses again, unless mebby it’s the last ones they took.  And I don’t guess there’s very much chance of gittin’ them back, either, because we don’t know whereabouts they took ’em to.  Way I look at it, you’re doin’ about the only thing that can be did—­cleanin’ out this range and drivin’ the hawses all up on the north range.  That kinda leaves the jam pot empty when they come lickin’ their lips for more of the same.”

“Well, I guess you’re right, Bill.  And how do you figure young Jewel not being here?  His saddle is out there in the shed, and all his horses are here.”

“Him?” Bill laughed a little.  “Me, I don’t aim to do no figgerin’ about Skyrider.  He’s got his flyin’ machine workin’, though, accordin’ to Mary V. I guess Skyrider has mebby flew the country.  He’d likely think it was about time—­way he gummed things up around here.”

Sudden permitted himself a snort, probably in agreement with Bill’s statement that things were “gummed up” at Sinkhole.  He went to the door and stood looking out, his face sour as one may expect a face to be when thoughts of loss are behind it.

“Where’s Mary V?” he turned abruptly to ask of Bill.

“Mary V?  Why, I guess she went home.  Said something about takin’ a picture of some darn thing; she never come on with the boys to camp, anyhow.”

“She didn’t go foolin’ off with Tex, did she?”