Buckskin, too, was prancing as though excited; and it was no easy task to keep half a grip on the bridle, and at the same time manage the gun.
Frank saw that Bob had scrambled to his knees, and was holding on to the loop of the lariat which he had snatched from around his shoulders. There had been some resistance at first; but apparently those behind the bushes feared what was likely to happen once Frank succeeded in getting his rifle free, for abandoning the rope they fled with a new series of howls.
“Why don’t you shoot, Frank?” cried Bob, considerably ruffled by his hard fall, and unable to understand what it all meant.
“I’ve got half a mind to; the cowardly curs, to play such a mean trick on us, and then vamoose like snakes!” gritted Frank, raising his gun once or twice, and aiming in the direction where the shouts and wild laughter still continued, though gradually growing fainter.
He could see several figures jumping over obstacles, and trying to take advantage of every little bit of cover that cropped up. And they were neither Navajo Indians, as he had at first suspected, nor the rustlers who were in the mind of his chum.
“A trick, was it?” ejaculated Bob, feeling ruefully of his knees, where he had come in contact with the earth on falling. “Then they didn’t mean to steal our horses, Frank?”
“Not quite so bad as that,” returned the other; “but I wouldn’t put it past Peg Grant and his bullies to do even a job of horse stealing if they keep on the way they’re going.”
Bob uttered an angry snort.
“And was it that crowd pulled me off my horse with a bump?” he exclaimed, as his face turned a shade darker with indignation. “Then I’ll have it out with Peg the first time I happen to meet him.”
“There they go now, streaking it across that open place; so I reckon they must have their horses somewhere over in that region. Watch me give the cowards a little scare!”