“The shotgun is gone,” he said. “They’ve taken Marion toward Broken Cañon, but the devil only knows just where. Nanah, are you all right? We’ve got to get help. You stay here.”
“Pretty good,” she said. “You go quick.”
They ran back to the stable and saddled their horses. The horses seemed to sense the need of speed, and the two boys mounted on the run. Sleepy stood in his stirrups, his lips opened in a soundless yell. This was action. They swung around the point of a hill, heading up through a swale, a mile or more from the ranch-house. Hashknife spurred in close to Sleepy.
“Get the sheriff and all the boys yuh can get together, and head for Broken Cañon, Sleepy. I’m goin’ back.”
Sleepy did not question him. He had spent too many years with Hashknife to question any action of the tall cowboy. He merely nodded, drew his hat down over his brow and headed for Blue Wells to gather a posse, while Hashknife drew rein, turned around and went back.
The poker game had just broken up, when Sleepy dropped off his horse at the door of the Oasis, and panted out his story.
“Good ——!” exclaimed Tex Alden. “There’s more than one hole-in-the-ground in Broken Cañon! Let’s go!”
Scotty Olson, the sheriff, got his horse, and they rode out of Blue Wells, nine strong; Olson, Sleepy, Tex, Gast, Goode, Johnny Grant, Eskimo and Oyster Shell. There was nothing for them to work on, except that Nanah had said that the men had gone toward Broken Cañon.
XIII—CAPTURED
It would have been difficult for any of Jimmy’s friends to have recognized him, unless they examined him closely. His face was plastered with gore, one eye swelled shut and his lip cut. He had no hat, one sleeve of his shirt flapped behind him, like a streamer tied to his shoulder. He had no saddle. In the crook of one elbow he carried the heavy, double-barrel shotgun. That was the extent of his armament. It was the first time he had ever ridden a bareback horse, and he was having plenty of difficulty in staying on the animal’s back.