Frantically the two ruffians whirled about and went slashing along on the back trail, plying whip and spur for all they were worth.
To follow them was the last thing Nomad would consider, with his own horse so heavily burdened.
“Aire them plug-uglies two o’ ther gang thet put ye in ther b’ar-trap, Golightly, and run off with ther buckboard?” asked the trapper.
“Faith, they look like ut,” answered the Irishman. “They didn’t shtop t’ tell us whoy they took th’ buckboard.”
“Nary, they didn’t,” chuckled Nomad. “Mebbyso they’ll send their explanations by mail. Let’s see what ther young woman has ter tell us. What did ye say her name was.”
“Dell av th’ Double D Ranch.”
“Dell, hey? Ain’t thar nothin’ more to et?”
“Dauntless, Dell Dauntless, Oi belave, is her full name, but nobody iver calls her that. F’r ivery wan in these parts she’s Dell—Dell av’ th’ Double D.”
Nomad, after watching the two masked men disappear in the gulch, had turned his horse the other way.
“Dell Dauntless,” he muttered, his eyes on the girl as she came riding back on her white cayuse. “Waal, thet’s er great name. Et somehow tickles my fancy like, an’ appeals ter my imagination. Et makes Dauntless Dell, when ye turns et front-end to, an’ shore stacks up ther clear quill. Ther name’s purty, an’ ther gal thet wears et is ther same. She looks like she was got up ter play ther star part in ‘Ther Cowboy’s Pride,’ er some other mellerdrammer with lots er blue fire and trembly music. Mebbyso ther name’s er false alarm, an’ thet war-rig o’ her’n is on’y fer looks.”