"I guess the circus we pulled off, back there on that hill, was worth the price, Ping. Don't grumble. There was something doing, and you and I answered to roll-call during the height of the agitation. Little Chop Suey and your Uncle Joe had something to say and do every minute the curtain was up. Oh, shucks! I'm tickled to death with myself. I'll be plumb contented, now, if nothing happens to me for the next fifteen minutes. Wonder how Matt's getting along, advancing that spark? Something gives me a hunch and whispers in my ear that he's having his hands full. Put your best foot forward, Ping, and let's see how quick we can get to where we're going."
"No gottee best foot," complained Ping. "Both feets allee same bum. Cleek makee bend, makee bend, makee bend; heap walkee to go li'l way."
"That's right," agreed McGlory. "Sufferin' serpents, how the creek twists! Suppose we climb to the top of this hill on the right and see if we can't work a cut-off on the pesky stream."
"Awri'," agreed Ping, and followed McGlory to the top of the hill.
From the crest they had an extensive view in every direction; in fact, it was almost too extensive, for behind them they glimpsed the Tin Cup men, racing back and forth over the uplifts, scattered widely and hunting for "signs."
McGlory muttered to himself and slipped off the top of the hill like a shot. Ping gasped as he followed.
"They ketchee China boy," he wailed, "him losee pigtail."
"Oh, hush about that," growled McGlory. "Do you know where we was lame, Ping?"
"My plenty lame in feet," said Ping.
"I mean, where we made a hobble. It was by not keeping two of those horses and using them to take us to the mouth of Burnt Creek."