“Say,” cried a voice overhead. “Won’t you please go ’way frum hyar? I ask it on my knees.”
They looked up and saw Old Pegs standing calmly on the summit of the rock, looking earnestly down at them.
“Won’t you please go ’way?” he repeated. “We wanter come through this yer pass, ourselves.”
“Why don’t you come, then?” demanded Jim Diggs, restraining some of his companions who were about to fire on the old hunter.
“Acause you’ve got some chaps down thar with long poles, and the cattle kain’t come through,” replied Old Pegs.
“That’s bad!” said Jim Diggs, “and they are a dreadful obstinite lot of men, too, and I’m afraid they’ll want to stay whar they are.”
“Can’t we persuade ’em ter go ’way?” said Old Pegs.
“I’m afraid not, old man.”
“I’ll try what I kin do!” roared Old Pegs. “Go to work, boys.”
The ravine was narrow as we have said, and the sides very precipitous. The old man suddenly disappeared, and scarcely had he done so when the sky began to rain large stones about the size of a man’s head, which came rattling down about the skulls of the enemy in a dreadfully unpleasant way, while nothing could be seen of the men who were throwing them, and who lurked far enough back of the verge to be out of range.