"Steady on, boy, steady on," said Mr. Harkness in an even, cool tone.
"And we without a spavined cayuse to follow 'em!" raged one of the cow-punchers.
As he spoke, the three tormentors of the ranch party topped the little rise.
As they did so, Clark Jennings rose in his stirrups and faced back.
"Ye-ow!" he yelled defiantly, waving his hat mockingly toward them.
Bang!
The sombrero was suddenly whirled out of the youth's hand as if some invisible grasp had been laid upon it.
Blinky looked apologetically at Mr. Harkness, and then carefully blew the smoke from the barrel of his pistol, the weapon with which he had just punctured Clark's headgear.
"Awful sorry, boss," he said contritely, "but I just plumb couldn't help it."
"Well, I don't know that I blame you," said Mr. Harkness, as the Clark Jennings party vanished in a hurry.