“What d’ y’ think, Ned?” muttered Ruel, his face black with suppressed anger, “What d’ y’ think them imps hev done?”
“What?” demanded Campbell, alarmed.
“Shot them dorgs—every one, dead es a nit!”
“Is that all? You startled me half to death!”
“All—all? Them dorgs—the best in Texas—truer’n death—oh thunder!” spluttered Ruel.
“Never mind ’em—are there any horses around besides ours?”
“Yes—them what was rid by those car’on.”
“The boys must ride further, then. We must rouse the neighbors. Colton and his wife need care, and then we must hunt down the villains that escaped. Besides, there’s Fred—he must be found.”
With a grieved look at the carcasses of his favorite “dorgs,” Ruel strode off to set the hunters at work. An hour later the wounded man and his wife were on the way to shelter, and Ruel was leading the hunt after those who had killed his dogs.