Merry had grabbed his red-headed chum with both hands.
“Will you let up of your own accord, Clan,” hissed Merry, “or have I got to strangle you?”
“I’ll quiet down if Pink will kindly explain what he means,” said Clancy.
“A fellow who puns has pa-ra-no-masia,” explained Ballard.
“Oh, that’s it!” murmured Clancy, pretending a great relief. “A fellow who puns ought to be punished, I suppose.”
“He ought to be punched,” declared Ballard; “and right here——”
But, just at this point, the sound which Blunt had first heard, and which had aroused his curiosity, came suddenly closer. It was loud, and shrill, and ear-splitting. Nor was it hard to determine the cause of it, now that it was so close.
“A pig, by thunder!” exclaimed the cowboy.
The words were still on his lips as a small and highly excited porker came plunging wildly into view around a turn in the trail. There was a rope tied to one of the pig’s hind legs, and attached to the end of the rope was a Chinaman.
The Chinaman’s silk kimono was split up the back, one of the sleeves had been torn away, and what remained of the garment was covered with dust and grime. His flapping trousers were also considerably out of repair, and one of his sandals was gone.