Piute swung the flock up to the left into an amphitheatre, and there
halted. The sheep formed a densely packed mass in the curve of the wall.
Dave Naab galloped back toward August and Hare, and before he reached
them shouted out: "The waterhole's plugged!"
"What?" yelled his father.
"Plugged, filled with stone and sand."
"Was it a cave-in?"
"I reckon not. There's been no rain."
August spurred his roan after Dave, and Hare kept close behind them, till
they reined in on a muddy bank. What had once been a waterhole was a red
and yellow heap of shale, fragments of stones, gravel, and sand. There
was no water, and the sheep were bleating. August dismounted and climbed
high above the hole to examine the slope; soon he strode down with giant
steps, his huge fists clinched, shaking his gray mane like a lion.
"I've found the tracks! Somebody climbed up and rolled the stones,
started the cave-in. Who?"
"Holderness's men. They did the same for Martin Cole's waterhole at
Rocky Point. How old are the tracks?"
"Two days, perhaps. We can't follow them. What can be done?"
"Some of Holderness's men are Mormons, and others are square fellows.
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