"Shorty Smith's got a game leg," returned the boy gleefully, "an' so's old Peter. Long Bill, he's got his hand all done up in a sling, too, an' couldn't go back on the round-up!"
"I wonder how Bill done that," mused the other twin with a sweet, indrawn breath. Hope flushed scarlet, which faded instantly, leaving her face its rich, dark olive.
"Come on," she cried severely, "if we are to get any birds to-day!"
"I know where there's a coyote's den," said the soft-voiced twin. Dave was all attention immediately.
"Where?" he exclaimed eagerly. Hope, interested, too, leaned forward resting her arm upon the pommel of the saddle.
"Well," said the boy, deliberately, sweetly—too sweetly, thought the girl, who watched him keenly—"I was goin' to keep it to myself, an' get 'em all on the quiet, but it's in a kind of a bad place to get at, so mebbe I can't do it alone. It's 'bout a half mile back there, between here an' home, up on that ridge behind old Peter's shack. There's a hole under the side of the rocks, but it's hard diggin', kind of sandstone, I reckon. I left a pickax an' shovel up there."
"Let's go up there now," cried Dave, "an' get the whole bloomin' nest of 'em! We can get the chickens later."
"Now, look here," said the other quietly. "The find's mine. If you're in on this here deal, you'll have to work for your share. If you'll do the diggin' you can have half of the bounty on 'em. How's that?"
Dave grunted. "Supposin' there ain't any there," he demurred.
The soft-voiced twin shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.