“Why didn’t you all try a bullet on him, Steve?” drawled one of his mates as he slouched in the saddle, hat drawn low over a pair of fiery blue eyes. “That there might have added an element of persuasion, so to speak.”
“Yes, that there’s just what I did,” the youngster responded sadly. “And wasted a good bullet on a couple o’ rattlesnakes. Even at that distance I was middlin’ sure I recognized ’em.”
“Well, speak out, man,” commanded Garry sharply. “We’re in a hurry. Who were they, to your thinking?”
“Near’s I could make out they was Philo Marsh and Stiffbold, boss,” returned the lad, and a muttering like the rumble of thunder in the distance came from the little knot of men. “Philo tries to ride his horse’s head and bounces in the saddle like a tenderfoot. I couldn’t be so sure about Stiffbold, but I was sure enough to waste a good bullet on him.”
“Well, let’s go!” cried Garry, wheeling his horse so suddenly that it reared and bucked alarmingly. “With the information you have been able to give us, Steve, we ought to be able to find these fellows without much difficulty. We will be back before long, Dorothy, and the next time you see us we will have Joe along. Promise not to worry!”
Dorothy looked at him in swift alarm.
“You don’t mean that you intend to go without me and Tavia!” she cried, still incredulous, though he nodded decisively in answer. “Why, Garry, you can’t! We can’t stay here alone, thinking, wondering!”
“But this is a man’s job, Dorothy,” Garry explained gently. “You would only hamper us and hold us back in the search for Joe. You don’t want to do that, do you?”
Dorothy turned away, her lip quivering. Garry took her hand and gripped it fiercely for a moment. Then turned to his men and nodded.
“Let’s go!” he called again, and there was an answering shout, triumphant and fierce, as the others closed in after him and galloped down the road in a cloud of dust.