“Then the only question is, could we manage the bad men who are running off the Bar-S stock. At a guess now, Donald, how many of them do you reckon there might have been chasing after the stampeding herd?”
Donald seemed to study for a few seconds.
“I paid particular attention to their yelling,” he presently remarked; “and noticed where the shouts came from. Now, I couldn’t be dead sure, Ad, but as near as I can say I’d put it down as about four punchers.”
“Whee! they made a heap of noise then, for just that many,” remarked Billie.
“That’s right,” agreed Donald, instantly; “but when you come to know punchers as well as I do, Billie, you’ll understand that four lively boys when they’re slapping their chaps with quirts and hats, and howling like mad to frighten stock, can make a racket equal to a dozen other fellows. There may have been one or two more, but still I think four’d cover the bill, Adrian.”
“That settles it!” declared the other, briskly.
“We go, do we?” demanded Billie, all of a quiver with sudden excitement.
“Adrian says so,” Donald told him, just as though they must look to the owner of the Bar-S outfit for guidance on this campaign, since he was in his own country now, and his chums had accompanied him simply to carry out his wishes.
“Well, things are looking brighter already,” remarked Billie; “because there’s the old moon apeeping out, like she wanted to give us a helping hand. Now, I ain’t much on signs and such things, fellows,
as you know; but seems to me like that same was a lucky omen.”