Wallie turned sick. He could not move for a moment. His air-castles fell so hard he could almost hear them.
"Do you think they've been in long?" he asked, weakly.
"Can't tell till daylight." Pinkey was getting into his clothes hurriedly.
Wallie was now in the doorway and he could make out innumerable dark shapes browsing contentedly in his grain-field.
"What'll we do?" he asked, despairingly.
"Do?" replied Pinkey, savagely, tugging at his boot straps. "I'll send one whur the dogs won't bite him with every ca'tridge. We'll run a thousand dollars' worth of taller off the rest of 'em. Git into your clothes, Gentle Annie, and we'll smoke 'em up proper."
"I don't see how it could happen," said Wallie, his voice trembling. "The fence was good!"
"If it had been twenty feet high 'twould 'a' been all the same," Pinkey answered. "Them cattle was drove in."
"You mean——" Wallie's mouth opened.
"Shore—Canby! It come to my mind last night when I seen that bunch movin'. Pretty coarse work I call it, but he thought you was alone and wouldn't ketch on to it."