This country was wild and lonely, and there was reason for it.  East of us, the ranches were pushing west from Austin and San Antonio; and west of us, a few venturesome ranchers were trying to settle in the Panhandle country.  But this area where we were was a hunting ground and traveling route of the Kiowas and the Comanches who raided into Mexico.

It was Apache country, too, mostly Lipans, I believed, but I was no expert on this area of Texas.  Most of what I knew was campfire talk...  An army patrol had been massacred south of us two years before, and a freighter trying a new route toward Horsehead Crossing had been attacked, losing two men and all of his stock.

A rider for one of the Panhandle outfits had cut loose to go on his own and had tried settling down in this country.  He lasted through one hardworking spring, fighting sleet, dust storms and late frost.  The country killed his crops and the Indians got his cattle.  When he tried riding out, leaving in disgust, they got him.

His cabin was somewhere south and east of us.  Everybody had heard of it, but nobody knew exactly where it was.  There were also rumors of some big caves in the country, but those we had yet to see.

Neither Fuentes nor me had any great itch to ride any closer to that campfire, although we were curious.  If it was Kiowas, it was a good chance to lose hair, and the same for Lipans or Comanches.  Anyway, we could ride down there tomorrow and, if they had pulled out, as seemed likely, we could put almost as much together by studying the remains of camp as if we actually saw it alive from close up.

A greenhorn might have tried slipping up on that camp.  And if he was a good man at outguessing Indians, he might get close and get away... but he might not, either.

It never seemed wise to me to take unnecessary chances, and Fuentes was of the same mind.  We were way past that kid stage of daring somebody, or doing something to show how big and brave we were.

That was for youngsters not dry behind the ears.  We moved when we thought it right to move, and we fought when the chips were down, but we never went around hunting trouble.

After studying that fire we went back and turned in, letting our horses keep watch for us.

We'd been lyin' there a while when I spoke out.  "Tony, there's something wrong about this."

"Si?"  His voice was sleepy, yet amused.  "Somebody stealing cows, no?"

"Maybe...  All we've got is some idea that cows have been moved, and the cows that were moved are a mixed lot.  On the other hand, the cattle that are missing are young stuff.

"The old stock somebody might try to steal.  But the young stuff?  It's mostly too young to sell with profit, which means that whoever has the young stuff intends to hold it a while...  And of course the young stuff hasn't been branded."

Fuentes said nothing and he was probably asleep, but it kept me awake a while, thinking about it.  If all they wanted was young stuff, why had they broken the pattern and stolen older stock?