I guess we can take care of a couple of horses, all right." That suited Bud very well, and he rode away thinking how lucky he was to have taken the right fork in the road, that day.

He had ridden straight into a job, and while he was not very enthusiastic over the boss, the other boys seemed all right, and the wages were a third more than he had expected to get just at first.

It was the first time, he reminded himself, that he had been really tempted to locate, and he certainly had struck it lucky.
He did not know that when he left the roundup his going had been carefully noted, and that he was no sooner out of sight than Dirk Tracy was riding cautiously on his trail.

While he fed his horses the last bit of grain he had, and cooked his supper over what promised to be his last camp-fire, he did not dream that the man with the droopy mustache was lying amongst the bushes on the other bank of the creek, watching every move he made.
He meant to be up before daylight so that he could strike the ranch of the Muleshoe outfit in time for breakfast, wherefore he went to bed before the afterglow had left the mountain-tops around him.

And being young and carefree and healthfully weary, he was asleep and snoring gently within five minutes of his last wriggle into his blankets.