“Do you think there will be any trouble?” enquired Mr. Hiram Sligh of Sergeant Crisp.
“Trouble? Perhaps so,” replied Crisp, as if to him it were a matter of perfect indifference.
“We'll never git them hosses,” said Raimes. “But we've got to stay with the chief, I guess.”
And so they followed Inspector Dickson down into the valley, where in the distance could be seen a number of horses and cattle grazing. They had not ridden far along the valley bottom when Mr. Cadwaller spurred up upon the Inspector and called out excitedly,
“I say, Inspector, them's our hosses right there. Say, let's run 'em off.”
“Can you pick them out?” enquired the Inspector, turning in his saddle.
“Every last one!” said Raimes.
“Very well, cut them out and get them into a bunch,” said the Inspector. “I see there are some Indians herding them apparently. Pay no attention to them, but go right along with your work.”
“There's one of 'em off to give tongue!” cried Mr. Cadwaller excitedly. “Bring him down, Inspector! Bring him down! Quick! Here, let me have your rifle!” Hurriedly he snatched at the Inspector's carbine.
“Stop!” cried the Inspector in sharp command. “Now, attention! We are on a somewhat delicate business. A mistake might bring disaster. I am in command of this party and I must have absolute and prompt obedience. Mr. Cadwaller, it will be at your peril that you make any such move again. Let no man draw a gun until ordered by me! Now, then, cut out those horses and bunch them together!”