scarred and scrawled, to taper into towers and serrated peaks and
pinnacled domes.

Venters pushed on more heedfully than ever. Toward the center of this
circle the sage-brush grew smaller and farther apart He was about to
sheer off to the right, where thickets and jumbles of fallen rock would
afford him cover, when he ran right upon a broad cattle trail. Like a
road it was, more than a trail, and the cattle tracks were fresh. What
surprised him more, they were wet! He pondered over this feature. It
had not rained. The only solution to this puzzle was that the cattle had
been driven through water, and water deep enough to wet their legs.

Suddenly Ring growled low. Venters rose cautiously and looked over the
sage. A band of straggling horsemen were riding across the oval. He
sank down, startled and trembling. "Rustlers!" he muttered. Hurriedly
he glanced about for a place to hide. Near at hand there was
nothing but sage-brush. He dared not risk crossing the open
patches to reach the rocks. Again he peeped over the sage. The
rustlers--four--five--seven--eight in all, were approaching, but not
directly in line with him. That was relief for a cold deadness which
seemed to be creeping inward along his veins. He crouched down with
bated breath and held the bristling dog.

He heard the click of iron-shod hoofs on stone, the coarse laughter of
men, and then voices gradually dying away. Long moments passed. Then he
rose. The rustlers were riding into a canyon. Their horses were tired,
and they had several pack animals; evidently they had traveled far.
Venters doubted that they were the rustlers who had driven the red herd.
Olding's band had split. Venters watched these horsemen disappear under
a bold canyon wall.

The rustlers had come from the northwest side of the oval. Venters kept
a steady gaze in that direction, hoping, if there were more, to see
from what canyon they rode. A quarter of an hour went by. Reward for his
vigilance came when he descried three more mounted men, far over to the
north. But out of what canyon they had ridden it was too late to tell.
He watched the three ride across the oval and round the jutting red
corner where the others had gone.

"Up that canyon!" exclaimed Venters. "Oldring's den! I've found it!"

A knotty point for Venters was the fact that the cattle tracks all
pointed west. The broad trail came from the direction of the canyon
into which the rustlers had ridden, and undoubtedly the