Chet shook his head over that question. Somehow that broad-brimmed, black hat looked familiar; but Chet could not place it just then. Besides, he was too anxious regarding what they should do with these two rascals.
Chet had refused to let Dig bring his rifle; but both boys carried their ropes. He saw that Tony Traddles cuddled a rifle in the hollow of his arm; it had slipped down until it lay in such a position that the man would have hard work to grab it up quickly. As for the sleeping rascal, Chet could not see that he was armed at all.
The boys both had their revolvers, but at the start Chet had forbidden Dig to flourish his pistol.
“Somebody might get hurt. They’ve stolen from us, but they did not try to injure us. And how we should feel if we managed to seriously hurt one of them!”
Of course, in a sober moment, Dig would have agreed to this; but at the time he grumbled some.
“They didn’t hurt us? Huh! look at my forehead. If it hadn’t been for them, I wouldn’t have a headache.”
He was in full accord with his chum, however, agreeing that Chet should take the lead. Tony Traddles, the bewhiskered, ragged tramp, was really nodding as he pretended to keep watch before the brightly burning fire. He pulled at his pipe slowly; his effort to draw the smoke into his mouth was almost mechanical.
Dig was the better of the two chums with the rope, as well as with horses. Chet signalled him to watch the sleeping man so that when he roused and sat up Dig could noose him before he had a chance to seize a weapon. For his own part, Chet stepped away a few paces and made ready his lariat.
There were no trees or shrubs in the way. Tony’s eyes were too full of sleep to see him. Besides, both boys were behind the log and Tony would have had to turn his head to catch a glimpse of them.
Dig was getting nervous when he saw his chum taking so much time for his preparations. Suppose Tony aroused suddenly—or the other man?