“Hold on,” he panted, with a laugh. “We can be mighty glad they’ve decided to go, Billy. No use getting after them, or they might change their minds.”
“Bring ’em on!” cried Clancy vigorously. “Hoop-a-la! I’m just getting ready to scrap, Chip!”
“Who were they?” asked Frank, getting Billy calmed down. “Was it Carson and the Clippers?”
“Didn’t you recognize Bully’s voice? Sure it was.”
“Here’s a job for the town constable, then,” said Clan energetically. “Chip, if this wasn’t a cowardly, no-account, low-down assault, then I’ll eat my hat!”
“Eat this one instead,” laughed Frank. He picked up a soft felt hat which lay on the ground at his side.
Billy struck a match. The hat bore a violent scarlet band, and on the sweatband inside were stamped the letters “E. T. C.”
“Who does that stand for?” asked Chip.
“Bully Carson,” spoke up Billy promptly. “Edward T., otherwise Bully. Say, fellows, I guess we can land that bunch in the lockup, hey? There must ’a’ been six or eight of ’em, and with this for evidence we can maybe jail the whole bunch.”
“Seemed to be more like a dozen,” said Clancy.