“Oh! for that matter, there’s the poor old wolf, you remember. And in a short time the air will be black with buzzards coming to the feast from a distance of miles around. Let good enough alone, as I’ve heard your mother tell you, many’s the time.”
Grumbling a little, and sending more than one aggressive look backward toward the audacious panther, Roger finally agreed to accompany his chum out to where the other victims lay.
The rest of the herd had galloped away, and were far distant by this time, though now lacking a gallant protector. And, lying where they had fallen, were the yearling bull and another, for both boys had made capital shots.
“What shall we do first?” asked Roger.
“I want to see you charge that rifle of yours before we start a single thing,” he was told bluntly by his companion.
“Oh! I had forgotten that part of the game, but you know I generally do reload without any loss of time, Dick. I learned that long years ago, and many a time, as I can distinctly remember, it saved me a heap of trouble.”
This duty having been accomplished, Roger waited to hear what they were to attempt next; for as a rule he was content to let Dick do the planning.
“While you go and fetch the horses, Roger, I’ll start to cutting up this fine young bull. You’ve got your bearings, of course, and know just where we left our mounts?”
“I surely do know,” the other replied, “and I’ll have them here before long. If I were you, Dick, I’d keep one eye out for that slippery beast of a panther. For all any one can say, he may take a notion that he prefers tender meat to tough. And that I’d call carrying the joke too far.”
“Depend on it, Roger, I’ll keep my gun handy all the while, and, if Mr. Panther gives me any trouble, I’ll be tempted to waste a bullet on him. Get back as soon as you can, that’s all.”