We were all bolt upright then, like jumping-jacks, and leaning on our palms and twisting about staring out strained into the moon-pallid plain.
Dan leapt to his feet.
"The hosses is gone!" he cried, and he rushed across to the two horses that were tied with the lariats.
"Lend me a hoss," he cried. "We must go out and see where Pete has got to with them horses."
"I lend you dis—you sumracadog!" said the half-breed in his guttural voice and he flung up his polished revolver in Dan's face.
It was Apache Kid who restored some semblance of order to the camp.
"All right, Dan," he said. "Don't worry. It's too late now."
We all turned to him in wonder.
"Pete thought it advisable to take the whole bunch away. He agreed that it was advisable to make what little capital he could out of his expedition into this part of the country. On the whole, I think he was sensible. Yes—sensible is the word," he said, thoughtfully wagging his head to the fire and then looking up and beaming on us all.
"What you mean?" cried Farrell.