"What's that?" queried McGlory.
"Look straight ahead at the top of the next hill."
McGlory turned his eyes in the direction indicated. A number of rough-looking horsemen, evidently cowboys, were scattered over the hill. They were armed with rifles, and were spurring back and forth in an apparent desire to get directly in front of the Comet.
"Why, pard," shouted McGlory, "they're punchers, same as me. Punchers are a friendly lot, and that outfit wouldn't no more think of cutting up rough with us than——"
The words were taken out of the cowboy's mouth by the sharp crack of a rifle. One of the horsemen had fired, his bullet singing through the air in front of the Comet.
"That's across our bows," said Matt, "and it's an invitation to come down."
The "invitation" was seconded by a yell the import of which there was no mistaking.
"Hit the airth, you, up thar, or we'll bring ye down wrong-side up!"
"Nice outfit they are!" grunted McGlory. "Get into the sky a couple of miles, Matt, and—— Sufferin' terrors! What are you about?"