“Why don't you come out an' take them cows!” inquired an unkind voice from without. “Ain't changed yore mind, have you?”
“We'll give you a drink for half a cent a head—that's the regular price for watering cows,” called another.
The faint ripple of mirth which ran around the plain was lost in opinions loudly expressed within the room; and Boggs, tears of rage in his eyes, flung himself down on a chair and invented new terms for describing human beings.
John Terry was observing. He had been fluttering around the north window, constantly getting bolder, and had not been disturbed. When he withdrew his sombrero and found that it was intact he smiled to himself and leaned his elbows on the sill, looking carefully around the plain. The discovery that there was no cover on the north side cheered him greatly and he called to Boggs, outlining a plan of action.
Boggs listened intently and then smiled for the first time since dawn. “Bully for you, Terry!” he enthused. “Wait till dark—we'll fool 'em.”
A bullet chipped the 'dobe at Terry's side and he ducked as he leaped back. “From an angle—what did I tell you?” he laughed. “We'll drop out here an' sneak behind the house after dark. They'll be watching the door—an' they won't be able to see us, anyhow.”
Boggs sucked his thumb tenderly and grinned. “After which—,” he elated.
“After which—,” gravely repeated Terry, the others echoing it with unrestrained joy.
“Then, mebby, I can get a drink,” chuckled Larkin, brightening under the thought.
“The moon comes up at ten,” warned a voice. “It'll be full to-night—an' there ain't many clouds in sight.”