, and, as it turned out, Bud was mighty sorry for
his apparently innocent fib before the end of the day, or the dawning of
the next.

They did as Bud planned, and when they were well out of sight and
hearing of the other boys they turned to the east, and, when well out on
the prairie, turned their ponies' heads to the north.

As they cantered across the prairie, on which the snow was like dry sand
and only about an inch deep, they could see bands of their cattle here
and there pawing the snow off the grass, or "rustling" for their fodder,
as the cowmen call it.

"I shore believe thar's somethin' wrong on this yere range," Bud
remarked, after they had gone a few miles.

"Why?" asked Stella.

"Somethin' wrong with ther cattle."

"In what way?"

"Thar ain't half enough o' them here."

"Do you mean that some of them are gone?"

"Yep. Thet's jest what I mean."

"Strayed, probably?"

"No. Stole."

"Nonsense. Who could have stolen them? The Indians?"

"No. I reckon not. The Injuns is keen after ponies. In the fust place
thar ain't nobody what kin wear out a pony as fast as an Injun. They
work their ponies ter death, starve 'em, beat ther hides off'n 'em,
neglect 'em, and when they're wore out turn 'em loose fer ther wolves.
Second, they kin run off a bunch o' ponies in a hurry, but they balk
some at rustlin' cattle because they move so slow. If we aire shy on
beeves ther white men has got 'em."

"When we get back we ought to round the cattle up and count."

"That's ther only way ter do it. I've got a pretty good eye fer a herd,
an' it's my idee thet we're losers here, an' that ther rustlers is
gittin' rich off'n us."

About noon Bud pulled in his horse, and examined the snowy ground
carefully.

He had struck a trail.

Winding across the prairie in a northeasterly direction was a broad
trail, the tracks of many cattle and horses.

"Here we are," said Bud. "Thar's whar some o' our cattle and several
ponies have passed."

He got down to the ground, and, stooping over the trail, regarded it
carefully.

Suddenly he straightened up.

"This is not an Injun trail," he said.

"It isn't?" asked Stella.

"No. Here are the tracks of cattle, an' on top of them those of horses
ridden by white men."

"How do you know they were not Indians?"

"Here's an impression o' a horseshoe, an' here's another o' a different
size. These were made by animiles ridden by white men."

"I can understand why you should kn