y will
not wait to learn that you are an officer. Perhaps I had better ride
with you."

But Law declined the well-meant offer, and with a dubious shake of the
head Ricardo rode away, while Dave guided Bessie Belle into the grove.

The mare seemed to know that something unusual was afoot. Perhaps some
nervous tensity of her rider made itself felt, perhaps with equine
sagacity she had understood from the first the nature of this scouting
expedition. Dave was inclined to believe the latter--he had often
averred that Bessie Belle knew quite as much as or more than he. At any
rate she picked her way with admirable care, her hoofs made almost no
sound upon the wet soil; only the complaint of the saddle leathers or
the swish of a wet branch rose above the steady patter of the
raindrops. It was not necessary to guide her; she selected the openings
of her own free will, her small, sharp ears were alert, and her eyes
searched the glades intently.

Dave smiled at this excess of caution and stroked Bessie Belle's wet
neck encouragingly, whereupon she turned her head and it seemed to the
rider that she nodded her complete understanding. Law could have kissed
her.

X

A RANGER'S HORSE

Onward through the dense foliage the two friends wound. Now and then
they stopped to listen, but the rain was heavy enough to drown all
other noises. Encountering fresh tracks finally, Dave leaned from his
saddle and studied them. What he saw caused him to push forward with no
diminution of stealth.

He had gone perhaps half a mile when Bessie Belle raised her head, and
he noted that her nostrils were working sensitively. A few yards
farther on Law fancied that he could detect the smell of a wood fire.
Almost without a signal from him the mare halted in her tracks until he
had satisfied himself. Still farther along they came to a place where
the brush was low, and there, rising through the tree-tops beyond, they
saw a wavering plume of blue smoke.

The Ranger rode into sight of the branding-fire with his Winchester
across his saddle-horn and his thumb upon the hammer; what followed
came with almost the blinding suddenness of a lightning crash, though
afterward the events of that crowded moment lingered as a clear-cut
memory. First there was the picture of a sandy glade in the center of
which burned a fire with branding-irons in it, and a spotted calf tied
to a tree, but otherwise no sign of life. Then, without warning, Bessie
Belle