get we’ll put the same down in writing so there’ll be no mistake. And now tell me what your names might be.”
The lanky one gave his as George Hess; the little “sawed-off” announced himself as Andy Hickenlooper; while the last puncher declared that he would respond to any name, especially when the cook was pounding on a frying-pan with a big spoon to announce dinner; but that if he had to sign any legal document he believed he could swear to the fact that he had once been called Septimus Green, shortened to plain Sep.
It was determined that they might carry the rustler along for a few more miles and then send him about his business, with the other ponies in his charge. To be sure, the news would thus be carried to the Walker headquarters in due time; but long ere that could happen Adrian expected to have reached the ranch with his cattle, so that it did not matter much anyhow.
Of course Adrian felt it his immediate duty to inform his chums of his good fortune in making arrangements with such a husky lot of punchers, and ones they had particularly fancied when they met them before.
So he had George keep the rustler under his eye, while he called Donald and Billie to him, to explain the situation. No doubt the boys had partly guessed the truth as soon as they heard those yells, and saw
the three newcomers swing out to start driving the herd; but all the same it sounded fine to them as Adrian spun the story.
“Great work, old chum!” exclaimed Billie, approvingly; “and already the atmosphere up around these diggings seems different. The punchers think so; and say, wouldn’t it be a stupendous thing now if our coming started the ranchers to getting their pluck back, so that they’d rise up, and chase this old Walker tribe out of Wyoming. Hope that’s what’s going to happen, you hear me talking, boys!”
When Billie was pleased his round red face fairly beamed with the smile that came so easily upon it. It was a catching smile, too, and many times those who saw the same just had to chime in from sheer sympathy.
For some time longer the drive went on, and they must have covered more than half of the territory over which the stampeded cattle had chased on the preceding night. As yet there was not the first sign of any pursuit on the part of the punchers connected with the raided ranch; as George Hess said, they were “lying down, like whipped dogs, and letting things go as they pleased, because it wouldn’t do any good if they did want to follow the thieves, with that woman holding her thumb on Fred Comstock so that he didn’t dare call his soul his own these days, without dodging.”
Adrian began to recognize numerous marks in the landscape. He knew that in not more than another couple of hours they ought to arrive at their destination, unless something not down on the bills happened to interfere; which could only come from a meeting with a large bunch of the Walker punchers, and consequent war.