THE BATTLE OF THE BOUNDARY FENCE.
The little party set off, watched by Vinnie with a good deal of anxiety. The dog was left in the edge of the corn; and Jack, with a good milky ear in his pocket, followed Mr. Betterson into the buckwheat-field.
"There's Wad and his dad after prairie chickens," said Zeph.
"Yes," said Dud, "and here comes Rufe after you. He'll give you Hail Columby one of these days, when I ain't round."
"I'll resk him," muttered Zeph.
"Look here, you young scape-grace!" Rufe called from over the fence, "I've come to take you at your word. Want to fight me, do ye? I'm ready, if you're particular about it."
"Come near me, and I'll sink a stun in your head!" said Zeph, frightened.
"You've got that phrase from the Wiggett boys," said Rufe. "I'd fight with something besides borrowed slang, if I was you."
Betterson meanwhile brought down a prairie chicken with a grace of gesture and suddenness of aim which Jack would have greatly admired if he had not had other business on his mind.
The bird fell in the direction of the boundary fence. Jack ran as if to pick it up, at the same time giving a low whistle for his dog. He stooped, and was for a minute hidden by the fence from the Peakslow boys,—if, indeed, Rufe gave them leisure just then to look in that direction.
Darting forward to the fence, Jack took down the top rails of a corner, and made a motion to Lion, who leaped over.
"Catch Snowfoot! catch Snowfoot!" said Jack, quickly placing the ear of corn in the dog's mouth.
The horse was feeding some six rods off, near Peakslow's pair, when the dog, singling him out, ran up and began to coquet with him, flourishing the ear of corn.
The boys were talking so loud, and Jack had let down the rails so gently, and Lion had sped away so silently, that the movement was not observed by the enemy until Snowfoot started for the fence. Even then the excited boys did not see what was going on. But Peakslow did.
If Snowfoot had been in his usual spirits he would have soon been off the Peakslow premises. But his long pull from Chicago had tamed him; and though hunger induced him to follow the ear of corn, it was at a pace which Jack found exasperatingly slow,—especially when he saw Peakslow running to the pasture, gun in hand, and heard him shout,—
"Let that hoss alone! I'll shoot you, and your dog and hoss too!"
Jack answered by calling, "Co' jock! co' jock! Come, lion! Come, Snowfoot! Co' jock!"
At the same time Zeph and Dud took the alarm, and ran toward the gap Jack had made,—they on one side of the fence, while Rufe raced with them on the other. Meanwhile Betterson, having coolly reloaded his discharged barrel, walked with his usual quiet, dignified step to the broken fence.
"Better keep this side," he said with deliberate politeness to Jack. "You are on my land; you've a right here."
"Oh! but that horse never will come!" said Jack. "Co' jock! co' jock!"
"He is all right; keep cool, keep cool!" said Betterson.
On came Peakslow, the inverted prow of his hooked nose cutting the air,—both hands grasping the gun, ready for a shot.
Jack did not heed him. Snatching the corn from Lion's mouth, he held it out to Snowfoot: in a moment Snowfoot was crunching corn and bits, and the bridle was slipping over his ears.
"Head him off, boys!" shouted Peakslow. Then to Jack, "Stop, or I'll shoot!"
"If there's any shooting to be done," said Betterson, without for a moment losing his politeness of tone and manner, "I can shoot as quick as anybody; and, by the powers above, I will, if you draw trigger on that boy!"
"Take care of him,—go!" cried Jack, giving Lion the bridle-rein and Snowfoot a slap. Then confronting Peakslow, "I've got my horse; I'm on Mr. Betterson's land; what have you to say about it?"
