Johnson grinned appreciatively.
“Well, there’s always the supposition that he may not see us until we ride into his clearing,” admitted Langford. “Of course, then—it’s too late.”
Jim blocked the way.
“I’m an ornery, no-’count cowboy with no one in this hull world to know or care what becomes o’ me. There ain’t no one to care but me, and I can’t say I’m a hurtin’ myself any a carin’! You just wait till I screech, will you?”
“Jim,” said Langford, huskily, “you go back and behave yourself. I’m the Boss not you. You’ve got to obey orders. You’ve sassed me long enough. You get back, now!”
“Tell Mary, ef I come back a deader,” said Jim, “that women are s’perfluous critters, but I forgive her. She can’t help bein’ a woman.”
He gave his horse a dig with his knee and the animal bounded briskly forward.
“Jim! You fool boy! Come back!” cried Langford, plunging after him.
Johnson shrugged his shoulders, and wheeled his horse into clever concealment on one side of the path.
“Let the fool kids go,” he advised, dryly. “I’m a lookin’ for Jess to run, anyway.”