As Adrian well knew, if the heavy animals had had the intelligence to form themselves into a “flying squad,” such as proves so effective in football,
nothing could have kept them within those flimsy bounds; but their efforts were all along the individual line, and therefore futile.
“That isn’t a bad idea,” was the way Adrian answered this proposition put forward by his chum.
“In the beginning, then,” continued Donald, “we knew there were five of these unreliables in the fold, for Uncle Fred mentioned their names. We had our eyes on the bunch when driving in the herds, though they seemed to behave halfway decent, and did their share of the work at that time. Now, one we heard had been sent with a message to Hatch Walker; that left four, didn’t it, Ad?”
The other laughed softly.
“Say, do you know what you make me think of, when you put it in that way?” he remarked, still chuckling.
“How should I?” demanded Donald.
“Remember the old nursery rhyme we used to have long ago about the ‘nine little Injuns swingin’ on a gate; one fell off, and then there were eight!’”
Donald laughed too, at hearing that.
“Yes, this is something along the same order,” he declared, “only instead of beginning with ten we start with only five; and I’ve already cut that number down a notch. Then there was that chap you wounded out by the haystacks—Uncle Fred fixed his arm, and has got Charley Moo standing