Percy Vere laughed again.
“You’ll do,” he cried.
“You bet I will! Anybody’s got to get up early to get ahead of my time.”
“Are you ready, boys?” asked Gummery Glyndon, as he approached them.
“Ready and willing,” responded Cute.
Glyndon took a critical survey of the boys, as they shouldered their rifles and joined him. Besides the rifle each was armed with a revolver—the large size called “navy”—and a bowie-knife, with a keen blade, six inches in length, and a stout horn handle. A serviceable weapon for a close encounter, and also serving the purpose of a hunting and table knife. Few travelers upon the plains and amongst the mountains of the Far West are without this useful article.
“You’ll do,” said Glyndon, shaking his head, approvingly. “Come on.”
Lieutenant Gardiner followed them to the edge of the timber.
“How long do you intend to be absent?” he asked.
“I shall try to bring you in something for dinner,” replied Glyndon. “I’ve got the boys, and so I can bring in considerable game, if we are lucky enough to find it. My idea is to go through the ravine, and skirt the cliff to the left there—where the deviltry was last night—looking for Indian sign by the way, and come back by the river’s bank, if there’s footing—if not, we’ll get on some logs and let the tide float us down.”