“There are three of ’em there and each has a gun; I don’t see why you need worry, ’cause the varmints can’t get at ’em and they’ll clear out in the morning.”
“That might be, but uncle says they will set fire to the cabin, unless they are driven off.”
“I didn’t think of that,” replied Gleeson, who still could not feel the alarm of his young friend; “the cabin has been purty well dried up by the drought of the last few months. I thought the varmints were after the cattle, and,” he added, again peering through the gloom after the herd, which had run so far that they were not only out of sight but beyond hearing, “they stand a show of making a good haul. But,” he continued more savagely, “they will find a little trouble in 118 getting off with them. There’s too many for us to lose without a big fight.”
“It doesn’t make any difference if the whole herd is stampeded, we must hurry to the aid of the folks in the cabin.”
“Being as them sentiments are the captain’s,” said Ballyhoo, “why, I’m agreeable to doing as him and you wish. So jump up here behind me, and we’ll go to camp.”
“I can walk.”
“Up with you!” commanded the Texan. “I shouldn’t wonder if some more of the varmints will be on hand afore long, to attend the obsequies of their champion runner.”
Avon obeyed, and the laden mustang struck off to the northward, at an easy gait.