Law had many times undertaken to break Bessie Belle of that habit of flinging her head high at sudden sounds, but she was nervous and inquisitive, and this was the one thing upon which she maintained a feminine obstinacy.

On the second evening the Ranger rode home through a drizzle that had materialized after a long, threatening afternoon and now promised to become a real rain.  Ricardo met him at the door to say: 

“You bring good fortune with you, senor, for the land is thirsty.  To-morrow, if this rain holds, we shall ride together—­you, Pedro, and I. Those thieves do their stealing when they leave no tracks.”

Raoul, the younger son, volunteered to go in place of his father, but Ricardo would not hear of it.

“Am I so old that I must lie abed?” he cried.  “No!  We three shall ride the fences, and if we encounter a cut wire—­diablo!—­we shall have a story to tell, eh?”

The sky was leaden, the rain still fell in the morning when Dave and his two companions set out.  Until noon they rode, their slickers dripping, their horses steaming; then they ate an uncomfortable lunch under the thickest hackberry-tree they could find, after which they resumed their patrol.  Ricardo’s tongue at length ran down under this discomfort, and the three riders sat their saddles silently, swaying to the tireless fox-trot of their horses, their eyes engaged in a watchful scrutiny.

At last Pedro, who was ahead, reined in and pointed; the others saw where the barbed-wire strands of the fence they had been following were clipped.  A number of horse and calf tracks led through the opening, and after an examination Ricardo announced: 

“There are two men.  They have come and gone, with the calves tied neck and neck.”

“That is Las Palmas, isn’t it?” Law indicated the pasture into which the trail led.

Father and son answered, “Si, senor.”

For a time the Ranger lounged sidewise in his saddle, studying the country before him.  The land was open and comparatively flat; it was broken by tiny clumps of mesquite and low, sprawling beds of cactus.  Perhaps a half-mile away, however, began a long, narrow patch of woods, with the tops of occasional oaks showing, and this ran parallel with the fence for a considerable distance.

“They took them in yonder, to brand,” he said, straightening himself.  “Maybe we’ll be in time.”

Side by side the three men rode off Guzman’s land, following the tracks to the nearest point of woods; there Law stopped to give his directions.

“Pedro, you ride down this side; Ricardo, you skirt the outside.  I shall keep to the middle.  Walk your horses, for I shall go slowly.”  He slipped his carbine from its scabbard; the others did the same.

But Dave’s plan did not commend itself to Ricardo; the old man’s face puckered into an expression of doubt, and, removing his hat, he ran a hand over his wiry, short-cropped, white hair.