te didn't wing anybody after all," mused Dick, as he and his
chums turned back toward the camp.

"I never s'posed he did," grunted Bud. "He's a four-flusher, that
fellow is, in my opinion. I wish dad had sent me somebody else."

"He's a good cowboy," defended Nort.

"Yes, but I don't feel that I can trust him. I'd rather have one like
Old Billee, slow as he is, than two Pocut Pete chaps," grumbled the boy
rancher. "But we've got other worries besides him, fellows! What are
we going to do for water, now that we have a double supply of cattle at
our ranch? That's what's worrying me!"

"It's enough to worry anyone," Dick agreed. "Maybe the water will come
back, Bud."

"I hope it does," added Nort.

"We'll take a stroll through that tunnel--it's the only way to find out
what's wrong," decided Bud. "Talk about black rabbits! I begin to
think Old Billee was more right than wrong!"

"But your bad luck, so far, isn't as bad as your father's in losing
cattle from disease," remarked Nort.

"No, and I hope that the epidemic doesn't break out here at Diamond X
Second," went on Bud. "If it starts, and we don't get the water back,
we may as well give up!"

He was plainly discouraged, and no wonder. He was young, and it was
his first experience as a rancher "on his own." Nort and Dick, too,
were a little down-hearted.

"But maybe things will look better to-morrow," suggested Nort, as they
turned in for the night, having discovered nothing alarming in the
direction where Pocut Pete had shot.

"Maybe," half-heartedly assented Bud.

But there was no water coming through the reservoir end of the tunnel
pipe when the sun shone again, and, after breakfast, the boy ranchers
prepared to explore the dark cave-like opening which extended under the
mountain.

"I hope we can turn it on," said Bud, and he looked at the concrete
basin of water, trying to calculate how much longer it would last if
the supply were not replenished. Already it was lower than it had been
the night before, for the cattle had drunk freely during the darkness.

Lanterns were gotten ready, a supply of grub packed, weapons were
looked to (for who knew what beast might not lurk in the tunnel?) and
at last the boy ranchers were ready to start.

"Good luck!" wished Yellin' Kid as the little party started for the
mouth of the tunnel.

"Thanks," chorused Nort, Dick and Bud.

Then they entered the black opening.

If you will imagine a hillside,