“Guess I’ll take him one,” continued Jack, grinning broadly. “He likes to smoke.”
“Shore enough, go ahead,” endorsed the foreman of the A-Y as he turned toward the grove. Then he stopped, and with a knowing look added: “If you want to see Humble, he just went in the bunk-house.”
A yell of dismay arose as the outfit started pell-mell for the house. Silent entered it first and his profanity informed his companions that their fears were well grounded. Neither Humble, cigars, tobacco nor jug were to be seen, and a search was forthwith instituted. Jack looked at a distant corral and saw Lightning as the dog disappeared from sight into it.
“Hey!” he cried. “He’s in the big corral–I just saw his dog go in, and it was wagging its tail a whole lot. Come on, we’ll surround it and show that frisky gent a thing or two!”
No more words were wasted, and in a very short time figures were creeping around the corral. Then there was a scramble as most of the searchers scaled the wall at different points while two of them ran in through the gate. The first thing they saw was the dog, and his tail was still wagging as he curiously followed, nose to the ground, a huge horned toad. He looked up at the sudden disturbance and backed off suspiciously, looking for a way to escape.
“–– ––!” chorused the fooled punchers, who discovered that deductions don’t always deduct, and then they returned to the bunk-house to “slick up.” When finally satisfied about their appearance they made their way to the grove and the sight which greeted their eyes as they entered it almost made them drop in their tracks.
Humble and Bill sat cross-legged on a blanket, which was surrounded with guns. The jug, tobacco and cigars were flanked by pies and a cake, while each of the conspirators held a lighted cigar in one hand while they took turns at the jug. A huge piece of pie rested in a plate at Humble’s side, while Bill’s knee held a piece of cake.
“Hands up!” shouted Humble, grabbing a gun. “Don’t you dare to raid the gallery! You stay right where you are!”
Bill’s blacksnake whip leaped from point to point experimentally, picking up twigs and leaves with disturbing accuracy.
The invaders halted just beyond the range of the whip and consulted uneasily, not noticing that the driver had shortened his weapon by twice the length of its handle. Finally Jim and Docile ran back toward the corral while their friends waited impatiently for their return, grinning at the enemy with an I-told-you-so air.