“Who’s a-firin’ off pistles in de kitchen?” demanded Buttercup in a serious tone, as she popped her woolly head through the doorway.
“Nobody, me black darlin’,” said Pat; “it’s only Miss Mary expressin’ her failin’s in a cheeky manner. That’s all!”
So saying the rejected cow-boy left the scene of his discomfiture, mounted his mustang, took his departure from the ranch of Roarin’ Bull without saying farewell, and when next heard of had crossed the lonely Guadaloupe mountains into Lincoln County, New Mexico.
But to return. While the troops and the outlaws were hastening thus to the rescue of the dwellers in Bull’s ranch, and the blood-thirsty Redskins were making for the same point, bent on the destruction of all its inhabitants, Roaring Bull himself, his pretty daughter, and Dick Darvall, were seated in the ranch enjoying their supper, all ignorant alike of the movements of friend and foe, with Buttercup waiting on them.
One messenger, however, was speeding on his way to warn them of danger. This was the cowboy Crux, who had been despatched on Bluefire by Hunky Ben just before that sturdy scout had started to call out the cavalry at Quester Creek.
Chapter Seventeen.
The Alarm and Preparations for Defence.
“From what you say I should think that my friend Brooke won’t have much trouble in findin’ Traitor’s Trap,” remarked Dick Darvall, pausing in the disposal of a venison steak which had been cooked by the fair bands of Mary Jackson herself, “but I’m sorely afraid o’ the reception he’ll meet with when he gets there, if the men are such awful blackguards as you describe.”