"I reckon I'll wind the old thing up until she caves in or breaks her mainspring," chuckled the fat boy. Stacy placed the horn to his lips and gave a long, winding blast that drowned the songs of the birds and set the barred owls to cackling uneasily.
"Here, what are you doing?" cried the horseman.
"If you aren't deaf, you would know without asking such a question," retorted Stacy, taking the horn from his lips for a moment.
Tad in the meantime had seated himself on a log. His rifle was still in the saddle boot, but Tad had his rope and his revolver. The former he did not have much if any use for in the present circumstances, but he half expected to have use for the rope. He had tried to avoid a clash, and he hoped the man would take alarm and go away. The man did nothing of the sort. Instead, he forced the situation to a head.
"How long you going to stay here?" he asked, controlling his voice with evident effort.
"Until you go away, or until my party comes up," answered Butler.
"I reckon you'll stay here a long time, then. I am camping here. Your party has gone the other way and they won't get out to this brake before tomorrow some time."
"You seem to know all about it."
"I reckon I do."
"And you know all about that deer over yonder behind the down cypress?"