Up from one deep washout a close-gathered troop of shadows came thrusting forward toward the lighter slope beyond.  These did not travel in one easterly direction as did those other scudding, wind-driven night wraiths.  They climbed straight across the wind to a bare level which they crossed, then swerved to the north, dipped into a black hollow and emerged, swinging back toward the south.  A mile away a light twinkled steadily—­the light before which Johnny Jewel was bending his brown, deeply cogitating head while he drew carefully the sketch of his new airplane’s tail, using the back of a steel table knife for a rule and guessing at the general proportions.

“Midnight an’ after—­and he’s still up and at it,” chuckled one of the dim shapes, waving an arm toward the light.  “Must a took it into the shack with ’m!”

Another one laughed rather loudly.  Too loudly for a thief who did not feel perfectly secure in his thieving.

“Betcher we c’ud taken his saddle hoss out the pen an’ ride ’im off, and he wouldn’t miss ’im till he jest happened to look down and see where his boots was wore through the bottom hoofin’ it!” continued the speaker contentedly.  “Me, I wisht we c’d git hold of some of them bronks they’re bustin’ now at the ranch.  Tex was tellin’ me they’s shore some good ones.”

“What’s the good of wishin’?” a man behind him growled.  “We ain’t doing so worse.”

“No—­but broke hosses beats broomtails.  Ain’t no harm in wishin’ they’d turn loose and bust some for us; save us that much work.”

The one who had laughed broke again into a high cackle.  “What we’d oughta do,” he chortled, “is send ’em word to hereafter turn in lead ropes with every hoss we take off ’n their hands.  And by rights we’d oughta stip-ilate that all hosses must be broke to lead.  It ain’t right—­them a gentlin’ down everything that goes to army buyers, and us, here, havin’ to take what we can git.  It ain’t right!”

“The kid, he’ll maybe help us out on that there.  I wisht Sudden’d take a notion to turn ’em all over to this-here sky-ridin’ fool—­”

And the “sky-ridin’ fool,” at that moment carefully reading his order over the third time, honestly believed that he was watching over the interests of the Rolling R, and was respected and would presently be envied by all who heard his name.  I wish he could have heard those night-riders talking about him, jeering even at the Rolling R for trusting him to guard their property.  This chapter would have ended with a glorious fight out there under the moon, because Johnny would not have stopped to count noses before he started in on them.

But even though horse thieves are riding boldly and laughing as they ride, you cannot expect the bullets to fly when honest men have not yet discovered that they are being robbed.  Johnny never dreamed that duty called him out on the range that night.  He went to bed with his brain a whirligig in which airplanes revolved dizzily, and the marauders rode unhindered to wherever they were going.  Thus do dramatic possibilities go to waste in real life.