But the third man was still unsatisfied. “We’re too near the town,” he said. “I know Billy Starbuck, and so do you. Th’ boys’ll get back to Nophi in a day, and that’ll mean a sheriff’s posse, with Starbuck headin’ it. It’s too risky.”
“Risky nothing!” was the snapping retort. “’Tis you with a yellow streak in you, Tom Dowling! How’s thim b’ys goin’ to know who holds ’em up in the dark? An’ with th’ snow thawin’ every day on the range, who’s goin’ to trail us over Mule-Ear?” And the cripple spat in the fire to emphasize his disgust.
Little Purdick had heard enough, and more than enough. In an hour, more or less, their camp would be raided, everything they had would be taken away from them, and they would be set afoot in the wilderness to make their way back to civilization as best they might. Stealthily he began to back out of his hiding place under the low-growing saplings. Flight, a swift race back to Dick and Larry with the tremendous news, was the next number on the programme.
Before he could give himself the first backing shove, Purdick found that he was shaking with nervousness, and he had to wait for a minute or two until he could get the trembling fit under control. The little pause came near proving hideously disastrous. In moving back he had disturbed a round stone the size of a man’s head, and before he could grab at it, it had gotten away and was rolling down the declivity. When it started, Purdick thought it was all over with him; the stone was headed straight for the fire in the gulch. But in its second turn-over it struck one of the small trees, was turned aside and went plunging down the other declivity into the stream at the right.
Purdick flattened himself to the earth until he had a feeling that he was no thicker than a sheet of paper, and he hardly dared to breathe. Two of the three men at the fire—the two with sound legs—sprang up at the noise of the plunge, but the cripple sat still and laughed raucously.
“Youse fellies ain’t got the nerve of a couple o’ jack-rabbits!” he sneered. “Did yuh think th’ little sleepin’ b’ys was comin’ down here to scrag us? ’Twas only a rock rollin’ round in the creek.”
Purdick had his shaking fit well in hand by this time, and once more he started to back away, testing every rock as he retreated to the stream level to make sure that it was fastened down before he put his weight upon it. Once on the trail, and around the first crook in the canyon, he began to run at top speed—and kept that up for just about twenty yards—which was all the distance it took to make him understand that when a fellow has lived all his life at an altitude of a few hundred feet above sea-level, he can’t run to do any good in the tall hills; at least, not until his lungs have grown big enough to take in more of the rarefied air at a gulp.
So it was a pretty badly winded scout who presently staggered into the upper camp opening and flung himself upon his two soundly sleeping comrades. Of the two, Larry came broad awake at the first alarm, but Dick had to be shaken vigorously before he could be made to sit up and listen to the story that Purdick was gasping out.
“Well, I’ll be dinged!—you good old sleuth!” was Dick’s praiseful comment, after Purdick had made them understand what had been happening while they slept. “Played ’possum and didn’t let him know you were awake? But why didn’t you yell out for us?”
“I meant to, at first, of course,” said Purdick. “But I waited too long. When he got up right here between you two with that butcher knife, I was afraid to. What are we going to do? They said they’d wait an hour or so, but they’re liable to change their minds and rush us any minute.”