A glad cry burst from Frank’s lips.
He saw the feasibility of the plan at once.
“Good for you, Barney!” he cried. “It takes an Irishman to solve a riddle after all. You are a brick!”
“Shure I’m not a Mick, sor, savin’ yer presence!” protested Barney.
“I said a brick. Not a Mick!”
“Shure I beg yure pardon, Misther Frank. It’s a gintleman yez are, an’ so was yer fayther afore ye.”
But Frank was now busy figuring the chances of success of the new plan.
CHAPTER IV.
DEFEATING THE COMANCHES.
It certainly was not a bad plan of Barney’s, and one easily worked.
It was a simple enough matter to climb to the top of the cliff.