"I hope you're right, mother," Edith replied wistfully.
Several miles from the Longhorn bosque Ben drew rein and looked long and intently at a horseman in pursuit of a cow and calf.
"That ain't Blakely," he said finally.
"Like as not it's one of them dog-gone cattle thieves, and he's got his dog-gone nerve to work as bold as this."
Cow, calf, and rider were lost to sight in an arroyo, and Ben, as he kept his eyes on the spot where they had disappeared, mechanically drew his rifle from its leather sheath where it swung beneath his leg.
The cow reappeared, threw up her head and disappeared again into the draw.
"She's bellowin' for her calf; he's roped it. Come on." Ben urged his horse to a gallop. "If he's seen us it's not likely we can get up to him for he'll throw down on us and I don't aim to get punctured for a thirty-dollar cow. But we can get close enough to find out who's doin' this rustlin'." He added: "There's something uncommon familiar about the way that feller sets in the saddle."
Bob and Ben galloped in silence through
