Instantly he rode into a thick clump of cedars, and, dismounting, tied his horse.

Then he went on, carefully and silently, on foot.

Soon he heard voices.

Again the calf bawled in fright and pain, and the familiar odor of burning hair was carried to him on the breeze.
Someone was branding a calf.
It might be all right--it might not.

Patches was unarmed, but, with characteristic disregard of consequences, he crept softly forward, toward a dense growth of trees and brush, from beyond which the noise and the smoke seemed to come.
He had barely gained the cover when he heard someone on the other side ride rapidly away down the ridge.