“I heard it hit,” stated Zeb.
“Unha,” agreed Ricky. “Sounded like uh hardware store done leaped before it looked. Let’s go back to th’ tent and see what happened.”
They climbed back up the bank and started for the tent, when Zeb grabbed Ricky by the arm and gasped in astonishment.
“Where?” he whispered.
Ricky rubbed a muddy hand across his eyes.
“She ain’t,” he remarked inanely. “Zeb, she’s done went away.”
“Giant powder!” exclaimed Zeb, sniffing the air. “Somebody done put dinnamite in our stove, Ricky!”
Ricky walked around the hole in the ground where the tent had stood.
“Tent’s gone,” he announced foolishly. “Good-by tent! Jerusalem! Zeb, our grub is all gone, too! Blewed up. Rifle gone, too, and—say, Zeb, you got yore six-gun—unha, yo’re gun’s safe but mine was on th’ grub-box.”
“Sheeps gone too,” stated Zeb.