The boys laughed, for they had all heard the story to the last particular.
“Well, all I know,” remarked Buster Billings, pathetically; “is that Clifford is just boiling over with confidence. I was up there last night to a little spread, and you never heard such talk in your life. Why, they feel dead sure they’re going to walk all over us this time.”
“Will they?” observed Jack Eastwick, in his customary sarcastic way, which had long ago become a settled habit with him; “maybe, maybe not. We’ve got some pretty husky specimens right here in old Columbia, and when the time comes we expect to pull down a few of those plums ourselves.”
“Bully for you, Jack!” cried Buster, patting the speaker encouragingly.
“I reckon I know what ails Lanky!” ventured Jonsey, who had a little bone to pick with the other, and lost no opportunity to give him a sly poke.
“Then tell us, or we’ll ride you on a rail!” threatened Jack Comfort.
“Dare I, Lanky?” asked Jonsey, not wanting to go too far.
“Sure. Just tell everything you know, or think, Jonsey. It won’t take long,” was the answering shot that came back.
“Well, the fact of the matter is, Lanky’s best girl’s gone back on him, because I saw her out riding with that new city fellow that came to Columbia a few months ago. He’s as fine a looker as you ever saw, the girls think, and pretty, rose-cheeked Dora Baxter seems to just take to Mr. Walter Ackerman.”
Jonsey had kept one eye out for an avenue of escape in case Lanky made a dive in his direction; he also counted on the others to hold the tall boy back, so as to give him a chance to escape; for he never could do it by simply running. But contrary to his expectations, Lanky made no offensive move. On the other hand, he even laughed in a strained way.