“Hello, a rider!”

“Yes, I see,” said Jane.

“That fellow’s riding hard.  Jane, there’s something wrong.”

“Oh yes, there must be....How he rides!”

The horse disappeared in the sage, and then puffs of dust marked his course.

“He’s short-cut on us—­he’s making straight for the corrals.”

Venters and Jane galloped their steeds and reined in at the turning of the lane.  This lane led down to the right of the grove.  Suddenly into its lower entrance flashed a bay horse.  Then Venters caught the fast rhythmic beat of pounding hoofs.  Soon his keen eye recognized the swing of the rider in his saddle.

“It’s Judkins, your Gentile rider!” he cried.  “Jane, when Judkins rides like that it means hell!”

CHAPTER IV.  DECEPTION PASS

The rider thundered up and almost threw his foam-flecked horse in the sudden stop.  He was a giant form, and with fearless eyes.

“Judkins, you’re all bloody!” cried Jane, in affright.  “Oh, you’ve been shot!”

“Nothin’ much Miss Withersteen.  I got a nick in the shoulder.  I’m some wet an’ the hoss’s been throwin’ lather, so all this ain’t blood.”

“What’s up?” queried Venters, sharply.

“Rustlers sloped off with the red herd.”

“Where are my riders?” demanded Jane.

“Miss Withersteen, I was alone all night with the herd.  At daylight this mornin’ the rustlers rode down.  They began to shoot at me on sight.  They chased me hard an’ far, burnin’ powder all the time, but I got away.”

“Jud, they meant to kill you,” declared Venters.

“Now I wonder,” returned Judkins.  “They wanted me bad.  An’ it ain’t regular for rustlers to waste time chasin’ one rider.”

“Thank heaven you got away,” said Jane.  “But my riders—­where are they?”

“I don’t know.  The night-riders weren’t there last night when I rode down, en’ this mornin’ I met no day-riders.”

“Judkins!  Bern, they’ve been set upon—­killed by Oldring’s men!”

“I don’t think so,” replied Venters, decidedly.  “Jane, your riders haven’t gone out in the sage.”

“Bern, what do you mean?” Jane Withersteen turned deathly pale.

“You remember what I said about the unseen hand?”

“Oh!...Impossible!”

“I hope so.  But I fear—­” Venters finished, with a shake of his head.

“Bern, you’re bitter; but that’s only natural.  We’ll wait to see what’s happened to my riders.  Judkins, come to the house with me.  Your wound must be attended to.”

“Jane, I’ll find out where Oldring drives the herd,” vowed Venters.

“No, no!  Bern, don’t risk it now—­when the rustlers are in such shooting mood.”

“I’m going.  Jud, how many cattle in that red herd?”

“Twenty-five hundred head.”

“Whew!  What on earth can Oldring do with so many cattle?  Why, a hundred head is a big steal.  I’ve got to find out.”