the cut of his jib any more’n I do that of Mr. Braddon, the showman.”
“Call him Shorty, then, since we don’t know his real name,” remarked Billie.
“The other was that young fellow who is dressed in the loud check suit, and who might be a son of the showman, for all anybody could say to the contrary. Seems to me they do look a bit alike, eh, Ad?”
“All right, let’s take that for granted, and call him Mark Braddon Jr.,” Billie went on to say, before Adrian could give his opinion; for it seemed as if the fat chum was feeling rather lively since he had surprised his comrades by his prompt holding up of the furious showman when he was threatening violence toward Adrian.
“Then we know three of the crowd,” Donald went on. “There may be others still, and we’d better keep our eyes open to pick the same out, from time to time.”
“You talk as if you thought we’d sure have trouble with the bunch yet,” remarked Adrian.
“Oh! you never can tell; but the signs all point that way right now,” Donald went on to say; “and you know, we’ve been brought up to keep on our guard all the time. They might take a silly notion to try and run us out of here.”
“Say, I hope not before that old dance comes off!” cried Billie, “because I’ve got my heart set
on taking some fine snapshots of the same, and it’d grieve me a heap to have to toddle out of here before then.”
“Make your mind easy, Billie,” said Donald, with a firm closing of his jaws together, and a gleam in his eyes that proclaimed the spirit of the prairie boy, “we don’t leave this same village until we’re good and ready, no matter what Mr. Mark Braddon and his crowd think, or want us to do. And if it came to a fight, I’ve got an idea those several cowboys from the ranches would flock to our side, once I told ’em who I was, and that my dad owns the good old Keystone Ranch.”