ncher translated
its meaning at once; they were being driven off.

He broke into a loping trot toward the threatened point, holding his
Winchester ready for instant use. As he was likely to need his horse,
he placed his fingers between his lips and emitted the whistle by
which he was accustomed to summon the faithful beast. Then he sent out
a different call. That was for the listening ears of Budd Hankinson,
who would be sure to hasten to his comrade.

But Weber did not wait for man or animal. They could come as fast as
they chose. The case was too urgent to admit of delay.

He believed the moving cattle were hardly a furlong distant, but they
were not only going at a rapid pace, but were moving directly away
from where the rancher had halted.

He could run as swiftly and as long as an Indian, but the course was
difficult, and he believed the cattle were going so fast that he was
gaining little if anything on them. When he had run a short way he
stopped and glanced impatiently back in the gloom.

"Why doesn't Cap hurry?" he muttered, referring to his horse; "he must
have heard my call, and he never lets it pass him. Budd, too, don't
want to break his neck trying to overtake me."

His impatience made him unjust. Neither man nor beast had had time to
come up, even though each had set out at their best speed the moment
they heard the signal. They would be on hand in due course, unless
prevented.

Weber called them again, with a sharp, peremptory signal, which could
not fail to apprise both of the urgency of the case. Then, afraid of
losing any advantage, he pushed after the fleeing cattle. The figures
of the sleeping animals around him grew fewer in number. By and by
none was to be seen. He had passed the outer boundary of those that
were left, and was now tramping over the section from which they had
been stampeded or driven by the rustlers.

He dropped to the ground again. But it was only to use the earth as a
medium of hearing. The multitudinous trampings became distinct once
more. The cattle were running, proof that the thieves were pressing
them hard and were in fear of pursuit.

Leaping up again, the rancher peered backward in the moonlight.
Something took shape, and he identified the figure of a man
approaching. The Winchester was grasped and half aimed, so as to be
ready for instant use.

But it was his friend, who was coming on the run. Budd Hankinson had
heard the call, and obeyed it with surprising