“You got until to-morrow afternoon to do it,” warned the sheriff.
As the hobo slunk away the three Frying Pan riders looked after him longingly. He was an ideal mark for their humor. Sam Hogg sensed their longing.
“It’s all right, boys,” he said. “You can go along now. Looks like they ain’t goin’ to be no trouble here, after all. Not right now, leastways.”
As one man the three humorists started after the scarecrow. Mrs. Ransom bristled to his protection.
“You bullies!” She shook a warning finger. “If I hear of you tormenting that poor little fellow, I’ll—well, I’ll be angry.”
“Huh, ma’am,” Tad Hicks stuttered. “We wa’n’t thinkin’ of doin’ nothin’, nohow.”
“We figured we’d take him to dinner with us-all,” Windy added with defensive genius.
Mrs. Ransom shook her head, smiling, as they joined the hobo. They towered above him—a tatterdemalion dwarf between three guardsmen.
She rejoined her husband. The sheriff nodded, and the judge and his family moved toward their home. Ransom was flanked by two deputies and further protected by Silent and Dutchy, who brought up a grim rear guard.
Snippets turned back and ran to Toothpick.