doesn't stay safe very long."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Bud, who thought it his duty to learn
all he could about matters connected with his father's ranch.

"I reckon he means the quicksands shift--is that it, Lanky?" asked
Billee Dobb.

"That's it--yep! A place that may be safe to cross to-night may be the
most dangerous in the mornin', or even in less time."

"Oh, so the creek is going to favor us after all!" exclaimed Bud. "If
it's as treacherous as that it will keep those Greasers on the far
side."

"Not altogether," said Billee. "They may have just enough fool luck to
strike a safe place and get over here."

"Well, if they come we'll be ready for 'em!" grimly said Nort, and the
others nodded in accord with this sentiment.

Then, as there was nothing else to do for the present, they watched the
actions of the Mexicans--actions that were not so strange and
mysterious as they had been before Bud hit upon the right solution.

And that it was a correct guess no one could doubt who watched the
sheep herders. With their long, thin poles they went up and down the
bank of the stream, thrusting the ends into the mud, or whatever formed
the bottom of Spur Creek. At times, as I have said, the Mexicans would
wade out, perhaps until the water came as high as their middle, in
order to thrust their poles farther out into the stream. But when a
man thus waded another stood near with ready lariat.

"They're taking no chances on being caught as the horse was," said Nort.

"Right-o!" exclaimed his brother.

The sheep men, however, seemed to find so many places where there were
quicksands--or indications of them--in the vicinity of the place just
across from the fort--that they soon moved more than a mile down
stream. That is, some of them did. Others moved up, the party
separating and leaving a few men guarding the sheep.

"As if we'd cross and try to catch any of the woollies!" laughed Bud,
motioning to those on guard.

It was late in the afternoon when the survey or test of the creek
seemed to be completed. The two parties with their poles came back to
what might be called the "camp," and a consultation seemed to be taking
place.

In the still, quiet atmosphere the excited voices carried across the
creek, though what was said could not be made out.

"They seem to be having a dispute," observed Nort.

And this was evident. One bunch of the Greasers evidently held to one
opinion, and a minority