“Nice way for an uncle to treat his nephew!” exclaimed Dolliver, from a place outside the house near the door. “But I told ye how it ’u’d be,” he added.
“He can’t shake me like that!” cried Darrel. “I’m going to do what I can to straighten out this trouble of Merriwell’s. Get the horse for me, Dolliver, and I’ll hike right after him.”
“Ye’ve got plenty o’ nerve, son, but blame’ poor jedgment,” growled the rancher.
“Why didn’t you call me,” demanded Darrel, “when you saw him coming?”
“Didn’t see him comin’. Didn’t have a notion anybody had dropped in till I saw the strange hoss at the hitchin’ pole.”
“Will you get the horse for me, Mr. Dolliver?”
The “mister” was pretty formal. The fact that Darrel used it proved that he was on edge and would not take “no” for an answer.
Dolliver got the horse and helped Darrel into the saddle. He wished him luck, too, although in the same breath he declared that the boy was running a big risk and would have his trouble for nothing.
Darrel’s pale face was set resolutely as he urged the horse into a gallop and disappeared through the mouth of the cañon.