There was an air of dejection about Bud, also. Indeed, every fellow in
the outfit was secretly worrying and grieving for Stella.
"Say, Ted," said Bud, as Ted rode up, "I think thar's somethin' wrong
with ther dogies."
Cow-punchers call the small Southwestern cattle "dogies."
"What do you mean?" asked Ted. "I was looking them over this morning.
Rode through the bunch. They seemed to be all right then."
"Oh, they're eatin' well, an' aire as likely a lot o' beef ez ever I
see," replied Bud.
"Well, what then?"
"Thar ain't so many o' them ez there wuz, er my eye hez gone back on
me."
"Any of them get away?"
"I figger it so."
"What have you found out?"
"Some one is liftin' our cattle. That's what I mean."
"Great Scott! What makes you think so?"
"Ted, ther herd has shrunk."
"You judge by the eye, I suppose."
"Yes. That is the only way I have o' judgin'. We hev never had a count
o' them since we drove them onto this range."
"How many do you think we are shy?"
"My eye tells me erbout five hundred.
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