The silence on the roof was profound and the three on the ground tried again.
“Let me call yore attention to the trained coyotes, ladies an' gents,” remarked Johnny in a deep, solemn voice. “Coyotes are not birds; they do not roost on roofs as a general thing; but they are some intelligent an' can be trained to do lots of foolish tricks. These ani-mules were—”
“Step this way, people; on-ly ten cents, two nickels,” interrupted Pete. “They bark like dogs, an' howl like hell.”
“Shut up!” snapped Tim, angrily.
“After the moon comes up,” said Hopalong, “when you fellers get tired dodging, you can chuck us yore guns an' come down. An' don't forget that this side of the house is much the safest,” he warned.
“Go to hell!” snarled Duke, bitterly.
“Won't; they're laying for me down there.”
Johnny crawled to the north end of the wall and, looking cautiously around the corner, funnelled his hands: “On the roof, Red! On the roof!”
“Yes, dear,” was the reply, followed by gun-shots.
“Hey! Move over!” snapped Tim, working towards the edge furthest from the cheerful Red, whose bullets were not as accurate in the dark as they promised to become in a few minutes when the moon should come up.