“Who are they?”
“Men that the ranchers here will not want to
see. I know that daddy will ride over to the
rodeo behind us, or I would turn about now and run
to tell him. There! they are gone. There
must have been a dozen of them.”
“But who are they?” demanded Nan, anxiously.
“Of course, I am not positive. But I think,”
said Rhoda, closing the glasses and putting them in
the case again, “that they are a band of wanderers.
Perhaps a raiding party led by one of the so-called
‘liberators’ of Mexico. You know,
there are more ‘liberators’ in Mexico
than you can shake a stick at,” and the girl
of Rose Ranch laughed.
“You mean bandits!” cried Nan.
“Well, that is a harsh word. They are political
leaders for the most part. Sometimes they become
important leaders. But when they come over on
this side of the Border they need just as close watching
as a pack of wolves.”
“Are these men like that Lobarto you told us
about?” said Walter.
“Perhaps. Of course, I do not really know.
Let us ride along, and when daddy overtakes us, I
will tell him.”
THE ROUND-UP
Mr. Hammond, however, did not overtake the young people
before they reached the mouth of the canyon through
which Rhoda said the army of horses must be driven
down to the branding pens.
“Of course, we could go on to the pens and wait
there,” she said to her friends. “Our
personal outfit is there already. Daddy sent it
over last night But then you would miss a sight that
I want you all to take back East with you as a memory.
It is something you will never forget.”
“Go on, Rhoda,” said Bess. “Show
us. Of course, we haven’t been seeing wonderful
things right along ever since we arrived at Rose Ranch!”
“This is something special,” said Rhoda,
and led the way into the canyon at a quick canter.
The high-walled slash in the foothills narrowed rapidly,
and five miles from the mouth of it the walls were
so close together that Walter declared he could throw
a stone from one to the other.
The way was becoming rocky, too; the patches of grass
were meager and the brush grew more sparse.
The summit of the bare walls rose higher and higher.
Far above the cut a vulture wheeled. The sun
beat down into the canon, for it was now mid-forenoon,
and, the breeze having died, the party of riders began
to suffer from the heat.
“I’m melting,” declared Bess.
“But that’s a small matter. I was
getting too fat, anyway.”
“Listen!” commanded Rhoda suddenly.
They heard then a growing sound like the rolling of
many barrels at a distance. It was not thunder.
The sky was as clear as a bell.
“Quick!” exclaimed Rhoda. “We
must get up yonder in that cleft! See? And
keep a tight rein on your ponies.”
They rode quickly off the trail, while the strange
sound grew in volume. It certainly was something
coming down the canyon; but the huge boulders shut
out all view of what lay thirty yards away from the
party.
