It was about four o’clock the following afternoon. Brick and Silent crouched in the brush and watched the ranch-house of Mostano. They had been there since the middle of the forenoon but had seen nothing of interest.
Their few hours of sleep at the Nine-Bar-Nine had only been an aggravation to Silent, who complained wearily against accompanying a half-witted sheriff on a foolish quest. They had left the Nine-Bar-Nine before daylight, having cooked their own breakfast, and had ridden the entire distance away from the road.
The sun was getting low behind the western ranges, and the trees in the valley cast long shadows of purple across the yellow of the meadow-like bottom land. Directly across the little valley from them was the bluff, where the trail led in to the Mostano ranch. Already p
