At whichever cabin he drew rein he was certain of a hospitable reception.
With no clearly defined idea of where he would spend the remaining hours of the night, he turned the nose of Queenie toward the ranges, among the mountain spurs.
Grizzly Weber and Budd Hankinson would stay near the cattle for an indefinite time, and he was debating whether to join them or to ride on to the ranch of Dick Hawkridge, a number of miles to the northeast, when his meditations were broken in upon in the most startling manner.
During those perilous times, the lonely horseman, in a dangerous region, relies much on his intelligent steed for warning.

While Monteith Sterry could do a great deal of thinking in the saddle, he was too alert to drop into a brown study that would divert his thoughts from his surroundings.
He was no more than a mile from the Whitney ranch when his mare pricked up her ears, gave an almost inaudible whinny, and slightly slackened her pace.
That meant that she scented danger, and her rider was on the _qui vive_.
He tightened the rein and drew her to a full stop.

She turned her head to the right and looked steadily in that direction, with her pretty ears thrown forward.

This meant that whatever impended was coming from that point of the compass.
But the keen eyes of Mont Sterry could not penetrate the moonlight sufficiently far to detect anything.

He was out of the saddle in a twinkling, and tried a trick learned from the old hunters.