"Nuthin', nuthin'," said Summers, still a bit shaky, "my pony scairt at suthin, I reckon, and jes' naturally dashed off. I had a hard job te pull the cayuse in."
"Same hyar, same hyar," said the black-mustached man.
"Rot!" laughed Bellew. "In my opinion, you're both a pair of cowards. Don't pull your gun on me, Summers. You wouldn't fire at me, and you know it."
Summers sullenly put up his gun.
"Say, what's ther matter with you, Buck?" he asked grumpily.
"What's the matter with you two, you mean? Why, you dashed off like a girl in a red sweater with a bull on her heels."
"I tole you ther ponies ran away," said Summers, shifting his little eyes. Somehow he couldn't look Bellew in the face.
"Yes, and I guess what made 'em run was suthin' like this—"
A quizzical look stole over Bellew's lean, handsome features. All at once the air became filled with the same mysterious sounds that had so alarmed Summers and the other man.
"Ye-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ow-w-w-w-w-w-e-e-eeeee!"