“I’ll bet ye that’s him,” chuckled Shagbark.
“He isn’t the only one that puts on the loud pedal when he sleeps.”
Shagbark stepped on the tongue of the vehicle and peered inside. It was too dark to see anything. In fact, two other men were breathing less stertorously, but he located the point from which the chief racket came. Feeling about with his hand, he gripped the shoulder of the sleeper, and bracing himself with one foot against the front board, he drew out the elongated form of the offender.
CHAPTER VIII
THE ATTACK
It looked to Alden Payne as if Jethro was eight feet long, when the guide was dragging him out of the front of the wagon by the nape of the neck. Like many persons, he was slow to regain consciousness, and was not fully awake until he was stood upon his feet. Even then he staggered uncertainly and was bewildered by the situation.
“What’s de matter?” he mumbled, spreading his feet apart and steadying himself.
“Whar’s your gun?” demanded Shagbark.
“In de wagon; I didn’t feel wery well and went in dere to lay down.”
“Get your gun and help shoot Injins,” was the startling order.