“I wouldn’t tr-rust him as far as I could throw a fr-reight wagon,” declared Scotty, shoving the cards aside. “He has the same glint in his eye that ye see in the eye of an outlaw cayuse. Now, where do ye suppose Slim and the two boys have gone, Chuck?”
“Slim didn’t know,” laughed Chuck. “He follows Hashknife around like a good old pup, with Sleepy trailin’ both of ’em. But Hashknife’s no fool.”
“Not a bit o’ one,” agreed Scotty earnestly. “I’d hate to be in Kid Glover’s boots when that tall cowpuncher meets up with him. Didja ever study the length of Hartley, takin’ account of the way his muscles work? They’re long, like the muscles in a snake. But he’s——”
From far up the street came a wailing cry. It was repeated several times before Chuck and Scotty reached the door. It was a woman’s voice they heard, crying—
“Fire! Fire! Fire!”
“Fire!” snorted Chuck, stepping out on the sidewalk. There were people running from Parker’s store, and more from other places of business. Chuck and Scotty ran up the street and crossed over to the crowd. The woman was Mrs. Parker.
“It’s the Parker home!” yelled one of the men.
“Get some buckets!”
Chuck raced back to the office, where he secured a large bucket and an axe. As he came through the doorway, Hashknife, Sleepy, Slim, and their two prisoners rode up to the front of the office.
“Parker’s house is on fire!” yelled Chuck, paying no attention to the prisoners, as he raced up the street.