“It’ll give us some light to travel by, and that counts a heap,” declared Donald always practical, and not given so much to sentiment as the fat chum, who had been a great reader of Marryatt and Cooper before coming out West, so that he had filled his mind with the romantic side of open air life.
“Then the sooner we get busy the better,” Adrian went on to say; and then turning on Donald he continued: “if you’re dead sure you meant that, when I mentioned wanting to chase after these rascals.”
“Let me tell you that I was just going to say the same thing myself, but thought you ought to have first chance,” the other boy assured him. “You know me from the ground up, Ad. And why shouldn’t I want to lend you a helping hand? Ain’t you my good chum; and tell me, didn’t you and Billie stand by me like bricks down there in the mountains of Arizona when it looked like Calvin Peets, the agent of the combine that was trying to steal the Red Spar Copper Mine away from my dad and his associates, backed up by that anarchist, Laidlaw? Huh! turn about is only fair play, and it’s come my chance now to stand back of my chum. Why, I’m that crazy to go after these rustlers that even if you held back I’d be wanting to take up the job by myself.”
Adrian gave a laugh as though his last lingering doubt had been removed.
“After hearing you talk that way I’d be a silly fool to doubt any longer,” he went on to declare; “and so let’s get back to our camp, start packing our duffel in a big hurry, and then make a start after that runaway herd with the brand of the Bar-S on their flanks!”
With which words he led the way back among the trees to the spot where their blankets, saddles, cooking utensils and other things were lying.
[CHAPTER VII.—FOLLOWING THE CATTLE RUSTLERS.]
“How about our ponies?” Billie wanted to know. “Will they be able to stand for another dash so soon?”
“Cow ponies are tough little critters,” Donald went on to say, with the utmost confidence; “and they recover from fatigue like magic. Right now I’d wager Wireless or Ten Spot would be good for a twenty mile gallop at full speed.”
“I notice you don’t include my Jupiter,” grumbled Billie, suspiciously; “mebbe now you’re counting on him to play out in short order, when poor Broncho Billie’ll have to be dropped behind, to