His mind caught again at realities, and curiosity prompted him to peep from behind the rock.
In the middle of the stream waded a long string of packed burros driven by three superbly mounted men.

Had Venters met these dark-clothed, dark-visaged, heavily armed men anywhere in Utah, let alone in this robbers' retreat, he would have recognized them as rustlers.

The discerning eye of a rider saw the signs of a long, arduous trip.

These men were packing in supplies from one of the northern villages.

They were tired, and their horses were almost played out, and the burros plodded on, after the manner of their kind when exhausted, faithful and patient, but as if every weary, splashing, slipping step would be their last.
All this Venters noted in one glance.