“I happened to be out huntin’,” went on the horseman, “or I wouldn’t have seen ye. I know cattle an’ their ways an’ I knowed there was only one way to head ’em off, an’ that was to skeer ’em.”
“I’m Jim Nestor,” said the miner, and he told the names of his companions.
“Glad to meet ye,” said the horseman, dismounting and shaking hands with each one. “I’m Hank Broswick.”
Nestor told the hunter something of the trip they were making, and Broswick in turn related how he was a free-lance hunter, roving over the prairies and among the mountains as suited his whims.
“Had yer suppers?” Broswick asked.
“No; an’ I don’t see any place around here to git ’em,” spoke Nestor. “We’ve got some grub, though, an’ we’d be pleased to have your company.”
“Thanks. I can add my share to the meal,” replied Broswick. “I’d jest shot some prairie chickens afore ye come up, an’ we’ll roast ’em.”
While he went over to where he had left the fowls, Jerry backed the auto, turned it around, and sent it down the hill to the level plain.
“It’s a case of camp out again to-night,” observed Nestor.
“That suits me,” spoke Ned, and the other boys agreed with him.