"What was it, then?"
"Hold on, thar, or I'll shoot," unwisely yelled Pete. Unwisely, because they, neither of them, had a weapon.
In reply a bullet sang past his ear, fired, judging by the momentary flash, from the direction of the trampling animals.
"Waal, what do you know about that?" grunted Pete amazedly. "This valley must be full of enemies of our'n."
"Better not do any more shouting," warned Jack.
"No, I reckon not. Wow! I heard the bees sing that time, all right."
"What do you suppose it could have been? Not Mexicans, certainly."
"Nope. At least I don't think so. Maybe Injuns."
"Indians!"
"Yes, every once in a while they stampede off the reservation and roam around promiscuous. But anyhow, whatever it was, or whoever it is, he's more scairt of us than we are of him. Hark!"