Mr. Smith, of the Bar H, rode at a walk, singing a song, the words of which should never appear in print. He had a message to deliver to the Doc and was in no hurry. His hat, a Mexican sombrero with ultra-fancy band, and a high crown, which appeared to be even higher because of the vertical dents which pushed the top into a peak, was tilted rakishly off-center and looked rather ludicrous to the man on the mountain, who noted that there appeared to be plenty of hat and horse, but very little man. When just across a short stretch of rocky trail there rang out over the rider's head a roar such as only black powder can make, and the tilted sombrero flew into the air and struck the ground. The horse and its rider heard the roar at the same instant and each acted as their instincts prompted. The horse shot forward, clearing a dozen feet in the jump, sprang back, wheeling in the air, and bolted for the arroyo it had just left, where it quickly recovered its poise and stopped to search out succulent grass tufts. Mr. Smith's instincts seemed to have come to him through generations of acrobatic ancestors, although he was not aware that any of his family tree claimed any such accomplishments, at least since they had forsaken arboreal surroundings. Certainly he never boasted, even in his maddest sprees, of being in any way gifted in acrobatics. Nevertheless, he performed a creditable exhibition when the roar smashed against his ears. As the horse leaped, he grabbed at the pommel, missed it, and in his haste to jerk his head back from the screaming lead he lost his balance. His feet left the stirrups, and then came swiftly upward as he pivoted on the saddle. They swept up past the horse's neck, kept on and described a half-circle, the saddle as the center. As they went up Mr. Smith's head went down, and as the horse leaped back and whirled, he was jolted into a position rarely seen in horseback riding except in exhibitions. For a moment he stood on his shoulder against the cantle of the saddle and then turned a pretty, if unintentional, back flip onto the ground, landing squarely on his hat. The whole thing happened in a flash and the sound of the shot was still rumbling among the hills when, grabbing his sombrero, he started on a dead run for the horse and the ranch. When he reached the animal he leaped into the saddle without touching the stirrups, and urged a speedy departure, which his spurs obtained.
Johnny rolled over on his back and laughed heartily. Finally he sat up, put the empty shell in his pocket, reloaded the rifle and went up the mountain to hide Squint's saddle in a better place, for he now believed such a precaution necessary. It was more than probable that Pine Mountain would be searched as soon as the indignant puncher could lead his friends to the scene of his discomfiture. He found the saddle where he had left it and carried it to a narrow, shallow split in the mountain's rocky side and dropped it in, after which dead branches and grass and rocks covered it and hid it securely. Scrambling back to the trail he looked cautiously along it and then dashed across and made his way to his horse, stepping on rock whenever possible. Not long afterward he rode down the Juniper trail and went to the hotel shed, where he led Pepper inside and prepared to groom her. He hardly had begun work when Two-Spot sidled in, and there was wrath in his eyes.
"What you been doin' to that hoss?" he demanded, as his gaze swept over her. "She looks like she's been rolled in th' river."
"Mebby she has," replied Johnny, rubbing briskly. "She likes a swim as well as I do—an' we both had one, which is somethin' I can recommend to you."
"What did you do with them rifle cartridges of Polecat's you was goin' to give me?" asked Two-Spot, going to work on the other flank.
"I hid 'em," answered Johnny. "Look out she don't hand you a stomachful of hoof—she don't like strangers."
"Huh!" snorted Two-Spot, "what do I care about strangers? Where'd you hide 'em?"
"In them sweepin's, under th' manger," replied Johnny. "Wait till after dark."
"What you figger I'm goin' to do—show everybody that Two-Spot's startin' an arsenal?" He rubbed for a moment in silence, and then began to chuckle. "Ol' Chief Smell-Um-Strong had a plumb fine gun—I got a laugh comin'; you gave th' best one away."