gerous proceeding, this chasing horse thieves," explained
Chet to Noel Urner. "A fellow is apt to get shot, unless he is careful.
That is what worries us so."

"Unless something turns up right after dinner, I'm going off on foot
with my rifle," put in Paul. "I may not discover anything, but it will
ease my mind trying to do something."

It lacked half an hour of noon when the boys heard a cheery voice from
the road hail them. They looked out and beheld Ike Watson, the hunter,
from Gold Fork, resting in the saddle just outside of the
semi-stockade.

"Whoop! Hullo thar!" cried the old fellow, who was hearty in both mind
and body and full of fun. "Wot's the meanin' o' two healthy boys
a-bummin' around the ranch sech an all-fired fine day as this yere?"

"O, Ike; I'm so glad you happened along!" cried Paul, as he ran out to
meet him. "We were hoping some friend would come."

"Thet so?" Ike Watson's face grew sober on the instant. "Wot's the
trouble?"

"Our horses have been stolen----"

"Gee, shoo! Hoss thieves ag'in! Wall, I'll be eternally blowed!"
exclaimed Ike Watson, in a rage. "Who be they, Paul?"

"We don't know. Allen has gone after them."

"How many animiles did they git?"

"Only two--that is here--Chet's and mine. But they also stole the horse
belonging to this gentleman, Mr. Noel Urner. Mr. Urner, this is our
friend, Ike Watson."

"Hoss thieves is worse 'n pizen," growled Watson, as he sprang down and
gave Noel Urner a hearty shake of the hand. "Thar ought ter be a law to
hang every one o' 'em, say I!"

"Allen went off yesterday afternoon, and as we have not heard from him
since, we are getting anxious," put in Chet. "We would have followed,
but we haven't a single beast left in the barn."

"I see. Which way did the thieves go?"

"Allen took the trail over the brook," replied Paul.

"Humph!" Ike Watson scratched his head for a moment. "Wot's ter prevent
me goin' after him, boys?"

"Will you?" asked Paul eagerly.

"Sartin. I ain't got nuthin' ter do, an' if I had, I reckon I could drop
it putty quick ter do a favor fer Granville Winthrop's orphans. Give me
a bite ter eat an' I'll be off ter onct."

"Are you sufficiently armed?" questioned Noel Urner.

"Armed? Well, I reckon," and from his belt Ike Watson produced an old
'49 horse pistol nearly two feet long. "Thet air's my best friend,
barrin' the rifle."

Chet soon had dinner for the hunter, which was as quickly devoured, and
then, after