“Just what you told Mrs. Hawks—don’t borrow trouble,” rejoined the cowboy, a twinkle in his eye.
“Meaning?”
“That it’s a fool idea to worry about the lifters hiking out right away when once they’ve hit the safety of the swamps. Let me tell you, they will be only too thankful to find we’re not on their trail so they can get a good night’s rest. You two know, as well as I do, it ain’t any cinch job shoving fifty head of cattle along as fast as they can leg it in the dark.”
“There’s good sense in that reasoning,” declared the owner of the stolen steers, after several moments’ reflection.
“And the beauty of it is, it’s the facts,” exclaimed Deadshot. “I never knew a cowlifter who wasn’t lazy and, once in the bottoms, they’ll feel so safe, I’m willing to bet they won’t think of breaking cover for a week, at least, unless we jump ’em. So if Hen don’t show up for forty-eight hours more, there won’t be any great harm done.”
The avengers were not obliged to wait so long for the appearance of the men they hoped to get to take up the trail with them, however.
Just as twilight tinted the waving grasses with glorious reds and purples, the halloo of the cowboys rang out, and in due course the owner of the Star and Moon ranch rode into the yard.
At the sight of his neighbor, he was glad, greeting him with hearty cordiality and chiding him for the length of time it had been since he had paid him a visit. But when he learned the purpose of Bowser’s presence, he became grave.
“You’re sure right, I’ll help you trail the skulks, Sam!” he declared. “Just as soon as the boys have had their chuck, we’ll start. We drove down by easy stages, that’s what took us so long, so they aren’t tired.”
While the two ranchmen had been exchanging greetings and talking, the rest of the outfit had come up with the cattle, and, as he observed this, Hawks called out: