of land where the tents were pitched.

"Granting that it has, who sent the warning?" asked Nort.

"Who else but the man who doesn't want to see any water diverted from
Pocut River?" asked Bud, in turn. "I mean Hank Fisher, and the gang he
trails along with! If anyone stopped this water, he did!"

"But how?" asked Yellin' Kid, who had strolled up to take part in the
general conversation. "He couldn't do it at th' river end of th' pipe,
without bein' found out, and he hasn't been around _here_, I'll gamble
on that--not since we started keepin' watch at night."

"No, he hasn't been here," admitted Bud, slowly. "It sure is a puzzle.
Well, let's have grub, and talk about it later. It may come back. If
it doesn't we have enough for a week--maybe longer."

It was drinking water for the cattle that was mostly needed, since the
occasional, slight rainfall was now sufficient to provide for the
grass, though some water was used to irrigate certain sections that
would be called "meadows" in the east. This drinking water was
conducted to distant troughs by pipes running from the reservoir, the
pipes being controlled by means of valves, or water gates.

Had there been natural water-holes in Flume Valley it would, long ago,
have been used as a place to raise cattle. But it was the absence of
drinking places that caused it to be passed by, until, by artificial
means, tapping the river through the underground course, Mr. Merkel had
enabled his son and nephews to become boy ranchers in earnest.

As Bud had stated, there was about a week's supply on reserve in the
concrete reservoir. When that was exhausted, unless the water again
started flowing through the pipe, the cattle would suffer from thirst.

"Well, she isn't spouting any," mournfully remarked Nort, as, with his
brother and Bud, he ascended the slope, standing on the edge of the
reservoir.

"No," agreed Bud. "She's as dry as an old buffalo skull now. I don't
know what to do!"

The shadows of dusk were falling, and the boys felt that the night was
coming with its gloom to match their own feelings. Failure seemed to
stare them in the face.

"But I don't see how anyone--granting that somebody like Hank Fisher or
Del Pinzo has it in for us--can shut off the water without operating at
either end of the flume!" exclaimed Nort.

"That is queer," agreed Bud. "I wonder what's inside that tunnel where
the old watercourse runs? I've been through it, but couldn't