“Oh, yu needn't be hikin' for Albuquerque—WasheeWashee'ud charge yu double for washin' yore shirt. Yu ought to fall in di' river some day—then he might talk business,” called Hopalong over his shoulder as he heaved an old boot into the gallery. “Hey, yu hibernatin' son of morphine, if yu don't git them flapjacks in here pretty sudden-like I'll scatter yu all over di' landscape, sabe? Yu just wait till Johnny comes!”
“Wonder where th' kid is?” asked Lanky, rolling a cigarette. “Off somewhere lookin' at di' sun through di' bottom of my bottle,” grumbled Billy.
Hopalong started to go out, but halted on the sill and looked steadily off toward the northwest. “That's funny. Hey, fellows, here comes Buck an' Johnny ridin' double—on a walk, too!” he exclaimed. “Wonder what th'—thunder! Red, Buck's carryun' him! Somethin's busted!” he yelled, as he dashed for his pony and made for the newcomers.
“I told yu he was hittin' my bottle,” pertly remarked Billy, as he followed the rest outside.
“Did yu ever see Johnny drunk? Did yu ever see him drink more'n two glasses? Shut yore wailin' face—they's somethin' worse'n that in this here,” said Red, his temper rising. “Hopalong an' me took yore cheap liquor—it's under Pete's bunk,” he added.
The trio approached on a walk and Johnny, delirious and covered with blood, was carried into the bunk house. Buck waited until all had assembled again and then, his face dark with anger, spoke sharply and without the usual drawl: “Skragged from behind, blast them! Get some grub an' water an' be quick. We'll see who the gent with th' grudge is.”
At this point the expostulations of the indignant cook, who, not understanding the cause, regarded the invasion of china shop bulls as sacrilegious, came to his ears. Striding quickly to the door, he grabbed the pan the Mexican was about to throw and, turning the now frightened man around, thundered, “Keep quiet an' get 'em some grub.”
When rifles and ammunition had been secured they mounted and followed him at a hard gallop along the back trail. No words were spoken, for none were necessary. All knew that they would not return until they had found the man for whom they were looking, even if the chase led to Canada. They did not ask Buck for any of the particulars, for the foreman was not in the humor to talk, and all, save Hopalong, whose curiosity was always on edge, recognized only two facts and cared for nothing else: Johnny had been ambushed and they were going to get the one who was responsible.
They did not even conjecture as to who it might be, because the trail would lead them to the man himself, and it mattered nothing who or what he was—there was only one course to take with an assassin. So they said nothing, but rode on with squared jaws and set lips, the seven ponies breast to breast in a close arc.
Soon they came to an arroyo which they took at a leap. As they approached it they saw signs in the dust which told them that a body had lain there huddled up; and there were brown spots on the baked alkali. The trail they followed was now single, Buck having ridden along the bank of the arroyo when hunting for Johnny, for whom he had orders. This trail was very irregular, as if the horse had wandered at will. Suddenly they came upon five tracks, all pointing one way, and four of these turned abruptly and disappeared in the northwest. Half a mile beyond the point of separation was a chaparral, which was an important factor to them.