Anyhow, I heard him give the Chink his orders all right, and after he was through he called Charley Moo back; and what d’ye think he told him?”
“How do you expect me to guess?” demanded Adrian.
“Well,” continued the amused boy, “he explained that he wanted the cook to fetch some supper for him out to the corral, when all the rest were busy working their jaws—said that he felt that some one should be on guard all the time, and knowing how hungry the hard-working punchers were, he didn’t have the heart to keep any one of them away from his feed. What do you think of that; a poor excuse is better than none at all, ain’t it, Ad?”
“So they say,” chuckled the other, who of course knew full well just why Uncle Fred did not care to enter the long room where the men took their meals, lest he see the figure of his wife at the head of the table, and be made to appear small in the eyes of the punchers.
“There, look at Mr. Comstock now!” exclaimed Donald, suddenly; “he seems excited, and keeps looking through his glasses as though he had sighted something or other. I wonder whether it turns out to be the sheriff’s posse, or the rustlers?”
[CHAPTER XXIII.—TO HAVE AND TO HOLD.]
“I can see dust over there,” Adrian hastened to remark, after he had taken a good look; “and it doesn’t seem to be in the quarter where Uncle Fred told me he expected to see the sheriff’s posse show up, sooner or later.”
“Then that means it must be the rustlers coming!” ejaculated Billie, who had arrived in time to catch this last remark on the part of the other chum.
He handled his rifle nervously as he stared toward the point on the horizon, already growing dim as the day faded.
“Well, don’t worry, Billie,” Donald told him, “because they ain’t going to come down on us in the daytime. P’raps, after all, it’s only a few wanting to take a survey, so as to report what’s been done.”