Bill suddenly leaned forward, the whip slid down into his hand to the end of the handle and cracked viciously. Joe Haines, who had grown a little careless, leaped into the air and yelled, grabbing at his leg.
“Keep your distance, you!” warned the driver, trying to look ferocious. “Twenty feet is the dead-line, children.”
Jim and Docile returned apace and brought with them half a dozen lariats, which ranged in length from thirty to forty feet.
“Hey, you!” cried Humble in alarm. “That ain’t fair!”
Grim silence was the only reply as the invaders each took his rope and surrounded the two. Then, suddenly, the air was full of darting ropes and in less time than it takes to tell of it the pair were hopelessly and helplessly trussed. Silent ran in and hurled the whip away and then squatted before the prisoners, throwing their cigars after the whip as he took up the pie and cake, which he tantalizingly munched before their eyes.
“I like a hog, all right, but you suit me too blamed well!” asserted Bud, grabbing at Silent’s pie.
“Gimme some of that,” demanded Jim, trying for the cake. And when the disturbance had ceased there were no signs of either pie or cake.
“It’s the travois for you, Humble dear!” softly hummed Charley Bailey. “And to the ranch, by the way of town!”
“And Bill will be pleased to explore the Limping Water on the bottom,” amended Jim. “One of us can drive the women home!”