“Durn me ef I kain’t stop it.”
“Yes you can—with a big copper.”
“Well, I kin.”
“Le’s see you try it.”
“Hark!” suddenly cried Carpenter. “Was not that a gun-shot?”
The friendly disputants ceased their strife, and halting and turning in their saddles, listened long and earnestly. The train was not in sight, having descended into a sort of dry slough which ran across the plain.
“False alarm,” declared Simpson, turning to continue the trail. But Cimarron Jack disagreed with him.
“Tim, I saw Apache Jack up by Comanche Rock day before yesterday, and he warned me of a band of Apaches who were out on a maraud, down in this direction. What he says is gospel.”
“Durned ef it ain’t! I giv’ in,” said Simpson. His confidence in Apache Jack was unlimited.
“The old boy was looking rather fazed,” continued Jack. “He told me he had only just given them the slip, after a run of thirty miles.”