eir curves, or maybe on account of having a fight
among themselves, they couldn't turn the trick."

"That's right!" exclaimed Nort, in his impulsive way. "Maybe instead
of being attacked by Greasers and Indians, who thought they could get
some gold, the professor's bunch had a fight among themselves, and
that's how those two men got hurt."

"It's possible," admitted Bud. "But, as Zip Foster would say, I don't
believe that's the right of it either."

"Would Zip Foster know what all this meant?" asked Dick, waving his
hand toward the deserted camp.

"Maybe," murmured Bud, turning quickly aside. "But there's no use
staying here any longer. We can't learn anything here. Might as well
get back to the ranch. If you fellows are ever going to learn to throw
a rope, you've got to do some practicing."

"What's the matter with doing it here?" asked Dick. "We've got ropes
with us."

To each saddle was looped the cowboy's most dependable friend aside
from his horse and his gun--the ever-present lariat. Bud was an
accomplished swinger of the rope, and Dick and Nort had been practicing
hard since coming to Diamond X.

"Yes, we can try a few throws here," said Bud, as he walked toward his
horse. "I'll sit up here and watch you two," he went on, as he leaped
to his saddle, and pulled up his pony which had, as was usual, started
off the moment he felt a weight on his back. "I can see you better up
here," Bud went on. "Try it standing first. Tackle some of those
stumps, and for cat's sake remember to keep your palms up when you
shoot the rope out. You'll never be accurate until you do."

The brothers tried, one after the other, and Bud encouraged them by
saying that they were improving.

"Now you show us," begged Nort, when his arm began to ache, for
throwing a long coiled rope is no easy task.

"All right," agreed Bud. "But I'll try it from the saddle. It comes
more natural to me that way, and nine times out of ten you do all your
roping from the saddle. Of course this isn't regular, for you don't
generally rope standing objects," he went on. "Sock isn't used to
that, and he expects a pull on the rope after I fling it. But I'll try
for that stump you fellows have been mistreating," and Bud laughed.

He rode Sock, his pinto pony, off a little way, coiling his rope in
readiness as he did so. Then, wheeling quickly, and with a wild,
inspiring "Yip-yippi!" the young rancher came riding fast toward a low,
broa