They slipped from their horses, stole swiftly down a shoulder of the hill, and waited among some brush. The bells jingled unsuspectingly onward to this ambush.
“Only hear 'em!” said Drake. “All full of silver and Merry Christmas. Don't gaze at me like that, Bolles, or I'll laugh and give the whole snap away. See him come! The old man's breath streams out so calm. He's not worried with New England conscience. One, two, three” Just before the sleigh came opposite, Dean Drake stepped out. “Morning, Uncle!” said he. “Throw up your hands!”
Uncle Pasco stopped dead, his eyes blinking. Then he stood up in the sleigh among his blankets. “H'm,” said he, “the kid.”
“Throw up your hands! Quit fooling with that blanket!” Drake spoke dangerously now. “Bolles,” he continued, “pitch everything out of the sleigh while I cover him. He's got a shot-gun under that blanket. Sling it out.”
It was slung. The wraps followed. Uncle Pasco stepped obediently down, and soon the chattels of the emptied sleigh littered the snow. The old gentleman was invited to undress until they reached the six-shooter that Drake suspected. Then they ate his lunch, drank some whiskey that he had not sold to the buccaroos, told him to repack the sleigh, allowed him to wrap up again, bade him take the reins, and they would use his six-shooter and shot-gun to point out the road to him.
He had said very little, had Uncle Pasco, but stood blinking, obedient and malignant. “H'm,” said he now, “goin' to ride with me, are you?”
He was told yes, that for the present he was their coachman. Their horses were tired and would follow, tied behind. “We're weary, too,” said Drake, getting in. “Take your legs out of my way or I'll kick off your shins. Bolles, are you fixed warm and comfortable? Now start her up for Harper ranch, Uncle.”
“What are you proposing to do with me?” inquired Uncle Pasco.
“Not going to wring your neck, and that's enough for the present. Faster, Uncle. Get a gait on. Bolles, here's Baby Bunting. Much obliged to you for the loan of it, old man.”
Uncle Pasco's eye fell on the 22-caliber pistol. “Did you hold me up with that lemonade straw?” he asked, huskily.