"That boy is to remain here," blustered Tucker, growing red in the face.
"Hardly, my bantam. Hop up, Dick, and we'll strike back for camp before the sun comes up and see if the others who are on the search have seen anything of your father. I saw nothing of him at the bottom of the Devil's Chimney."
"I'm not going to have a lazy, good-for-nothing boomer lay it over me——" began Tucker, when once more the sight of Pawnee Brown's pistol silenced him.
No more was said as the scout, Dick and Rasco rode away down the trail by which they had come. But, once out of sight, Tucker raised his fist and shook it savagely.
"I'll get square with you some day, Pawnee Brown, mark my words!" he muttered between his set teeth.
"We'll all get square," said Ross. "I hate the sight of that man."
"I understand the boomers have made him their leader," broke in Skimmy. "If they have, he'll try to break through to Oklahoma as sure as guns are guns."
"And he'll get shot, too," answered Tucker dryly. "The lieutenant is having all of the boomers' movements watched."
"Pawnee Brown will do his level best to give us the slip, see if he don't," remarked Skimmy. "Four thousand boomers wouldn't make him their leader for nothing."
Thus, talking among themselves, the three cavalrymen mounted their horses and rode back to their various picket stations along the boundary line of the Indian Territory.