take any chances with the rustlers if you encounter them."

"We're not likely to," said Pocus Pete, significantly.

From the distant cook house came the appetizing odor of food and Dave
sniffed the air eagerly.

"Hungry?" asked Mr. Carson.

"That's what I am, Dad!"

"Well, eat heartily, get a good rest, and tomorrow you can try your hand
at driving strays."

Evening settled down over the Bar U ranch; a calm, quiet evening, in spite
of the earlier signs of a storm. In the far west a faint intermittent
light showed where the elements were raging, but it was so far off that
not even the faintest rumble of thunder came over Rolling River, a stream
about a mile distant, on the banks of which were now quartered the cattle
which the cowboys had recently rounded up for shipment.

The only sounds that came with distinctness were the occasional barking
and baying of a dog, as he saw the rising moon, and the dull shuffle of
the shifting cattle, which were being guarded by several cowboys who were
night-riding.

Very early the next morning Dave Carson and Pocus Pete, astride their
favorite horses, and carrying with them a substantial lunch, set off after
the strays which had been dimly observed the day before up Forked Branch
way.