"Kill those poor brutes. It's the only thing to do with a hamstrung horse," said Jack bitterly, turning away.
Ralph, having no more wish than his friend to see the final chapter of the raiders' visit, followed him. As they turned they almost ran into the professor.
The estimable scientist, in his agitation, had just thrown aside a valuable book, and held tightly to a piece of straw, under the impression that he had thrown away the straw and kept the book. Jack picked up the volume and handed it to the professor. To his surprise, however, the man of science waved the book aside, and the boys could see in the moonlight that a new light, foreign entirely to their usual mild radiance, beamed in his eyes.
"No, no!" he said in a sharp voice, one which the boys had never heard him use before. "No books now. What I want is a rifle and a horse. I never knew I was a man of blood till this moment, but—but I'm hanged if I wouldn't like a shot at those—ahem—I believe they are called greasers, and a good name for the rascals!"
"Good for you, professor!" exclaimed Jack; "and if we have our way, you'll get your chance before long. We're going to take the trail after those rascals as soon as Bud and the others get the horses."
"Oh, Jack, are we to go?" gasped Ralph.
"Well, if we don't, something's going to drop!" said Jack in a determined tone. "They've taken my little Firewater, and I've got something to say to them on my own account."
"Say," exclaimed Ralph suddenly, as the professor and the boys hastened toward the house, "I want to take back something I said yesterday."
"What's that?"
"That there are no adventures left in the modern West."