“And then, doctor,” said the scout, “we will prove how Jake got his injury.”
“Whoop!” tuned up the doctor. “I can’t begin to tell you how glad I am that I’ve come. My friend, you’re a man after my own heart. You do things. While the trouble pot is boiling on the Brazos, you keep busy and find out the reason—then settle the reason. There is much cause for rejoicing m the fact that you paid the Brazos country a visit, just when you did. No man but you could have laid hold here and man handled this emergency in the correct way. I take off my hat to you.”
The scout laughed.
“You’ll have to take it off to some of my pards, this trip,” said he.
Bloom and Phelps, who had been galloping at a good pace along the trail, suddenly drew rein.
“I reckon this is as far as I’m going,” declared Phelps.
“Now, Hank!” protested the doctor indulgently, “what’s broke loose now?”
“Here’s the trap I told you about,” snapped Bloom. “Look ahead, there!”
The forks of the trail were in sight. A group of riders were in plain view.
“A trap, eh?” jeered the doctor. “Why, Hattie Dunbar is one of that outfit. Not afraid of Mrs. Dunbar, are you, Bloom? And there’s Lige Benner, too, on my soul!! Why, you’re old friends of Benner’s, both of you. If he can be riding in peace and amity with Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar and Perry, you fellows ought not to object. And is that Sim Pierce? It is. Sim’s everybody’s friend. Old Nomad is with the lot, and the little Piute Indian. What’s to be feared from that trap, Bloom?”