While he was settling on this course of action as promising the best results, the man had completed the task of bandaging.  Bert looked for him to unhobble his horse and resume his journey.  But, to his surprise, the fellow stretched himself out on the grass as though in no particular hurry.  Yet there was an air of expectancy about him, and it flashed across Bert that he was waiting for some one.  And this impression was heightened by the glances he cast toward the upper end of the gully, and the way he lifted his head from time to time as though listening for a signal.

It came at last, a whistle three times repeated.  Instantly he sent back an answering call, and a moment later two men emerged from the farther end of the ravine and rode their horses slowly toward their waiting companion.

They were dressed in ordinary cowboy fashion and rode as though they had been born to the saddle.  In addition to the revolvers in their holsters, each carried a rifle slung in the hollow of the arm.  One was of enormous bulk and a shock of flaming red hair showed beneath his sombrero.  The other was of medium build, but wiry and quick as a cat in his movements.  Both were of the same evil stamp as the first, although they lacked the look of authority that marked him as a natural leader.

They gave an exclamation of surprise as they saw the bandaged arm, and were off their horses in an instant.

“What’s the matter, cap?” inquired the smaller man.  “Did they get you bad?”

“Bad enough,” snarled the other with a string of blasphemies.  “I guess they’ve broken a bone in my wrist.  But the feller that did it will never do no more shooting.”  And in fervid words, interrupted by curses as his sore arm gave a worse twinge than usual, he related the events leading up to the affray.

The others listened with perfunctory grunts of sympathy, although they seemed less concerned about him personally than over the changes the wounding might make in their plans.

“It’s lucky it’s the right arm, anyway,” consoled one of them.  “Yer’ll still be able to shoot as well as ever until yer get all right again.”

“Yes,” assented the captain grudgingly, “it’s the first time I’ve ever felt glad that I’m left-handed.  And I’m shore glad that I fixed that deal up with the half-breed before the scrap came off.  Handed him over his share of the last swag, and got it all settled to pull off another trick a week from to-morrow.”

They gathered eagerly about him to learn the details, and Bert strained his ears to catch the fragments of conversation that floated up to him.  He could detect the name of “Melton” and “Pedro” as often recurring, but to his intense disappointment could get no coherent idea of the felony the rustlers had in view.  Had he done so, his quest would have ended then and there.  It would then be simply a matter of laying an ambush at the given time and place, into which the rascals would walk blindly, and from which there would be no escape.  But when at last the conference was over, he was no wiser than before, except that his suspicions as to the half-breed had become a certainty.