“Sounds like a lot of firecrackers going off.”
The cowboys, roused from their noon-day siesta, had risen from benches or from sprawling positions on the grass, and were gazing about.
“I don’t see anything,” observed Gimp.
“Nor I,” said the Parson. “But I hear it. It’s a sort of crackling.”
The noise grew louder.
“Sometimes,” said Hen Dalton, still softly, “quick rifle fire makes that noise. Once I was in——”
He stopped suddenly. The Parson had looked up and his surprised gesture made the others do likewise.
In the sky was an object. It was growing larger. It was from this object that the noise seemed to come.
“Boys! Boys!” ejaculated Gimp. “Do you s’pose—do you s’pose it’s one of them—one of them—airships?”