"What d'you mean?"
"Why, sir, if they was to catch Monkey in Chukkers's country they'd flay him."
"Who would?"
"The Ikey's Own."
Silver stared at him.
"Who are the Ikey's Own?"
"They're Them!" said Monkey with emphasis. "That's what they are—and no mistake about it."
We are coming. Uncle Ikey, coming fifty million strong,
For to see the haughty English don't do our Ikey wrong.
"He slipped 'em over special last back-end. Chose 'em for the job. Bowery toughs; scrubs from Colorado; old man o' the mountains; cattle-lifters from Mexico; miners from the west; Arizona sharps. Don't matter who, only so long as they'll draw a gun on you soon as smile. Come across the ocean to see fair play for the mare. They're campin' round her—rigiments of 'em. If a sparrer goes too near her, they lays it out. No blanky hanky-panky this time—that's their motter."
The young man went alone.