“Don’t worry,” Teddy said. “Those fellows aren’t—”
A snapping overhead as of a twig breaking. A swish through the air. The embers of the fire were scattered by a stone which fell among them and bounded out again—a stone with a paper tied to it.
CHAPTER XXIII
Greyhound
“Watch the broncs!” Silent yelled. “The feller that threw that is close!”
Teddy leaped to his feet, his revolver in his hand. The ponies were tied a little distance from the campfire, and he stumbled toward them through heavy underbrush.
“Take the left, Nick!” Roy exclaimed. “I’ll follow Teddy. He’s likely to get a bullet through him, rushing around like that! Get away from the light of that fire!”
Nick rolled, pulled out his gun, and found himself against a tree. He got quickly to his feet.
“Don’t shoot, no matter what you see,” Silent yelled hoarsely. “Teddy an’ Roy are out there—you might hit them.”
But Teddy had reached the horses, and Roy was at his side.
“Didn’t get ’em,” the boy panted. “What do you say we—”