"God!" breathed Chick, looking around, "I never saw a man like that before!"
"I hope he gets what he wants!" exclaimed Dan, fiercely.
"You fellers get yore traps ready for a chase," Meeker ordered as he strode to the door of the gallery. "Fifty rounds for six-shooters an' fifty for rifle, an' plenty of grub. It's a whole lot likely that th' Greaser headed for his gang, an' we've got to be ready to handle everything that comes up. Hey, Salem!" he shouted.
"Aye, aye, sir!" replied Salem, who had just come in from one of the corrals and knew nothing of what had occurred.
"Did you cure that beef I told you to?" demanded the foreman.
"Yes, sir; but it ain't had time to cure—th' weather's not been right. Howsomever, I smoked some. That'll be ship-shape."
"Well, have it on our cayuses at daylight. Did you cut this beef in strips, or in twenty-pound chunks, like you did th' last?"
"Strips, little strips—I ain't trying to sun-cure no more big hunks, not me, sir."
Meeker turned and went towards the outer door.
"Don't waste no time, boys," he said. "Get all th' sleep you can to-night—you'll need it if I reckon right. Good-night," and he stepped out into the darkness. "D—n them dogs!" he muttered, disappearing in the direction of the kennels, from which came quavering, long-drawn howls.