The voice of Hawks came to him. "Stay there while I get the boss."

The dismounted cowboy watched Hawks ride away, then lay down in the hot sand and let the sun bake him. He felt sick and weak, as helpless as a blind and wobbly pup.

It may have been an hour later that he heard voices and looked across to the mouth of the ravine. Harshaw and Big Bill and Dud were there with Hawks. They were in a group working with ropes.

Harshaw rode into the river. He carried a coil of rope. Evidently two or more lariats had been tied together.

"Come out far as you can and catch this rope when I throw it," Harshaw told the marooned cowboy.

Bob ventured out among the willows, wading very carefully to make sure of his footing. The current swirled around his thighs and tugged at him.

The cattleman flung the rope. It fell short. He pulled it in and rewound the coil. This time he drove his horse into deeper water. The animal was swimming when the loop sailed across to the willows.

Dillon caught it, slipped it over his body, and drew the noose tight. A moment later he was being tossed about by the cross-currents. The lariat tightened. He was dragged under as the force of the torrent flung him into midstream. His body was racked by conflicting forces tugging at it.

He was being torn in two, the victim of a raging battle going on to possess him. Now he was on his face, now on his back. For an instant he caught a glimpse of blue sunlit sky before he plunged down again into the black waters and was engulfed by them....

He opened his eyes. Dud's voice came from a long way.

"Comin' to all right. Didn't I tell you this bird couldn't drown?"

The mists cleared. Bob saw Dud's cheerful smile, and back of it the faces of Harshaw, Hawks, and Big Bill.

"You got me out," he murmured.

"Sure did, Bob. You're some drookit, but I reckon we can dry you like we did the grub," his riding mate said.

"Who got me?"

"Blame the boss."

"We all took a hand, boy," Harshaw explained. "It was quite some job. You were headed for Utah right swift. The boys rode in and claimed ownership.

How you feelin'?"

"Fine," Bob answered, and he tried to demonstrate by rising.

"Hold on. What's yore rush?" Harshaw interrupted. "You're right dizzy, I expect. A fellow can't swallow the Blanco and feel like kickin' a hole in the sky right away. Take yore time, boy."

Bob remembered his mount. "Powder River got away from me--in the water."

He said it apologetically.

"I'm not blamin' you for that," the boss said, and laid a kindly hand on Dillon's shoulder.

"Was it drowned?"

"I reckon we'll find that out later. Lucky you wasn't. That's a heap more important."

Bob was riding behind Dud fifteen minutes later in the wake of the herd.

Hawks had gone back to learn what had become of Powder River.

Supper was ready when Buck reached camp. He was just in time to hear the cook's "Come an' get it." He reported to Harshaw.

"Horse got outa the river about a mile below the island. I scouted around some for it, but couldn't trail in the dark."

"All right, Buck. To-morrow Dud and Bob can ride back and get the bronc.

We'll loaf along the trail and make a short day of it."

He sat down on his heels, reached for a tin plate and cup, and began one of the important duties of the day.

CHAPTER XXVI

CUTTING SIGN

Dud's observation, when he and Bob took the back trail along the river to find the missing bronco, confirmed that of Buck Hawks. He found the place where a horse had clawed its way out of the stream to the clay bank. From here it had wandered into the sage and turned toward the home ranch. The tracks showed that Powder River was moving slowly, grazing as it went.

"I reckon by noon we can say 'Hello!' to yore bronc," Dud prophesied. "No need to trail it. All we got to do is follow the river."

An hour later he drew up and swung from the saddle. "Now I wonder who we've had with us this glad mawnin'."

Dud stooped and examined carefully tracks in the mud. Bob joined him.

"Powder River ain't so lonesome now. Met up with friends, looks like.

Takin' a li'l' journey north." The cowpuncher's blue eyes sparkled. The prosaic pursuit of a stray mount had of a sudden become Adventure.

"You mean--?"

"What do _you_ read from this sign we've cut?"

Bob told his deductions. "Powder River met some one on horseback. The man got off. Here's his tracks."

"Fellow, use yore haid," admonished his friend. "Likewise yore eyes. You wouldn't say this track was made by the same man as this one, would you?"

"No. It's bigger."

"An' here's another, all wore off at the heel. We got three men anyhow.

Which means also three horses. Point of fact there are four mounts, one to carry the pack."

"How do you know there are four?"

"They had four when they camped close to us night 'fore last."

Dillon felt a sinking at the pit of his stomach. "You think this is Houck's outfit?"

"That'd be my guess."