t was a good two hours after the departure of Slim.
We sat in silence (while the ponies browsed the tufts of grass) watching the clouds of mosquitos hanging in their phalanxes along the trickle of the stream and the bright, gauzy, blue wings of two mosquito-hawks flashing through their midst.
"By the way," said Apache Kid, "do you know if Miss Pinkerton herself has heard of this accusation against me?"
"By now, she is liable to have heard some rumour of it, I reckon," said the sheriff; "but as to whether she heard the news or not at the time of my starting out after you, I dunno."
The implication was amusing.
"Ah, yes, of course," said Apache Kid. "You act so promptly, always, Sheriff."
The Indian, who was sitting a little above us, spoke: "Tree men," he said, "an' tree men and one man come along up-hill beside the honeysuckle."
"That's seven," said Apache Kid.
"Seven?" said the Sheriff, sharply, rising to his feet; "and no waggon?"
"No."