But, in this, the scout was mistaken. The H-P men had taken the box from a lumber wagon, and were manipulating it in such a way that half a dozen of them could carry it and advance with it for a breastwork.
“Thet’s er whale of er idee!” growled the old trapper. “I reckon et kyboshes us some, too. Hey, Buffler?”
The scout peered gravely at the advancing wagon box. It moved forward for a dozen feet, and then rested. During the rest, Prouther showed himself, and the other cowboys advanced a little.
“We’re goin’ ter give ye another chance!” yelled Prouther.
“Another chance for what?” called back the scout.
“Why, ter give up that feller we want. If ye don’t give him up, we’ll shore burn the ranch house. If we kain’t git him one way, we kin another.”
“There’s no way you can git him!” the scout roared defiantly. “We’re well armed in here, Prouther, and you’ll find it out to your cost if you keep on as you’re going.”
“Talk’s cheap. Aire we ter have Dunbar? Yes or no.”
“No!”
There was no mistaking the finality the scout put into the word. Again the wagon box was picked up and started forward.