He crouched down with bated breath and held the bristling dog.
He heard the click of iron-shod hoofs on stone, the coarse laughter of men, and then voices gradually dying away.

Long moments passed.

Then he rose.

The rustlers were riding into a canyon.

Their horses were tired, and they had several pack animals; evidently they had traveled far.
Venters doubted that they were the rustlers who had driven the red herd.
Olding's band had split.