“Bringin' a wagon with him to tote the hull shanty away,” suggested Wyngate.
“Or fetched his own ambulance,” said Briggs.
Nevertheless, after a pause, the wheels presently rolled away again.
“We'd better go and meet him at the gate,” said Rice, hitching his revolver holster nearer his hip. “That wagon stopped long enough to put down three or four men.”
They walked leisurely but silently to the gate. It is probable that none of them believed in a serious collision, but now the prospect had enough possibility in it to quicken their pulses. They reached the gate. But it was still closed; the road beyond it empty.
“Mebbe they've sneaked round to the cabin,” said Briggs, “and are holdin' it inside.”
They were turning quickly in that direction, when Wyngate said, “Hush!—some one's there in the brush under the buckeyes.”
They listened; there was a faint rustling in the shadows.
“Come out o' that, Brown—into the open. Don't be shy,” called out Rice in cheerful irony. “We're waitin' for ye.”
But Briggs, who was nearest the wood, here suddenly uttered an exclamation,—“B'gosh!” and fell back, open-mouthed, upon his companions. They too, in another moment, broke into a feeble laugh, and lapsed against each other in sheepish silence. For a very pretty girl, handsomely dressed, swept out of the wood and advanced towards them.