"Bet you didn't git half a load," amended Reb.
"I'll show you scoffin' mossbacks what I got," retorted Buffalo, rising to the bait. He clambered down and went to the rear of the wagon, untied the knots and threw back the canvas. As he paused to wonder how the bale had become spread out, the top skin moved up and down, and he jerked back his hand. "There's some kind of a varmint in there!" he cried in pardonable amazement.
Brazos left the group with a leap and reached for the hide as his gun slanted down on it. Giving it a quick, hard jerk, he threw it behind him and then gazed in astonishment at a pair of boots which moved energetically, while strange, strangled gurgles were heard in the wagon box. "I'm d—d!" he muttered. "What th'—who th'—how th'—" He grabbed hold of a boot and pulled heartily. It resisted and tried to kick. Following his gun under the canvas, he moved another skin and then emerged and stared at Buffalo.
"What is it?" demanded the freighter. "Who is it? How'd he git there, hey?"
"It's Wolf Forbes, blindfolded, gagged, hog-tied, an' lashed to th' box," accused Brazos. "Was you aimin' to skin him when you had more time?"
"Skin him?" indignantly retorted Buffalo. "You can't skin him; he's so tough a plough wouldn't scratch his hide. How'd he git in there, an' tie hisself up like that?"
"Mebby you can tell that to a jury," retorted Brazos, slying winking at the dumfounded group. "However, unless we want to call on a coroner's jury first, we better git him out," and, slipping the gun into its holster, he plunged back under the canvas.
Pete Wiggins was the first of the group to recover. "After all these years we done found you out!" he exulted.
"What's wrong?" demanded Jerry, from the office.
"Yore Pop is bringin' in hide on th' hoof," declared Reb.