ckon. Anyhow, I always guess
right on presidential elections and prize fights. You got to know men, in
my line of business. I study 'em. Hardly ever peg 'em wrong. Fellow said
to me one day, 'How's it come, Thomas, you most always call the turn?' I
give him an answer in one word--psycho-ology."

The trailers scanned closely the edge of the irrigation ditch. Here, too,
they failed to get results. There were tracks enough close to the
lateral, but apparently none of them led down into the bed of it. The
outlaws no doubt had carefully obliterated their tracks at this place
in order to give no starting-point for the pursuit.

"I'll go up on the left-hand side, you take the right, Dave," said
Crawford. "We've got to find where they left the ditch."

The prospector took the sandy bed of the dry canal as his path. He chose
it for two reasons. There was less brush to obstruct his progress, and he
could reach the ears of both his auditors better as he burbled his
comments on affairs in general and the wisdom of Mr. Thomas in
particular.

The ditch was climbing into the hills, zigzagging up draws in order to
find the most even grade. The three men traveled slowly, for Sanders and
Crawford had to read sign on every foot of the way.

"Chances are they didn't leave the ditch till they heard the water
comin'," the cattleman said. "These fellows knew their business, and they
were playin' safe."

Dave pulled up. He went down on his knees and studied the ground, then
jumped down into the ditch and examined the bank.

"Here's where they got out," he announced.

Thomas pressed forward. With one outstretched hand the young man held him
back.

"Just a minute. I want Mr. Crawford to see this before it's touched."

The old cattleman examined the side of the canal. The clay showed where a
sharp hoof had reached for a footing, missed, and pawed down the bank.
Higher up was the faint mark of a shoe on the loose rubble at the edge.

"Looks like," he assented.

Study of the ground above showed the trail of two horses striking off at
a right angle from the ditch toward the mouth of a box canon about a mile
distant. The horses were both larger than broncos. One of them was shod.
One of the front shoes, badly worn, was broken and part of it gone on the
left side. The riders were taking no pains apparently to hide their
course. No doubt they relied on the full ditch to blot out pursuit.

The trail led through the canon, over a divide be