Dan, by a rapid movement, had snatched the book from its reposing place and was examining, with keen interest, the wonderfully rearing horse on the cover.
“See here, you’re going too far!” shouted Tom, indignantly.
“No, jist far enough,” grinned Dan. He held the book up at arm’s length.
A storm of laughter came from the men.
“I know’d it, I know’d it!” roared Blimby. “Exactly what Colonel Sylvester said. Daffy on the cowboy game. Ha, ha, ho, ho! An’ here’s his name writ on the inside. Boys, mebbe the colonel won’t give us the glad hand when we take this prize over to the ranch.”
“Well, if that’s all you want, let’s go right away,” said Tom.
No violent outburst of anger or protest could have made half the impression on the cow-punchers as did these words. The loud hilarity instantly came to an end. Blimby was dreadfully puzzled; his face showed it.
“That’s the cleverest bit yit,” he exclaimed. “But it won’t work no better’n than the others. Now, pard, jist one question: where was ye bound when the greaser copped ye?”
“Over to detachment quarters of the Texas Rangers!” answered Tom smilingly. “Our crowd is staying there. Shall I tell you——?”
“No, nuthin’ more!” fairly yelled Blimby. “This is sure the worst case I ever run up ag’in. Climb aboard yer prairie schooner, feller. Mebbe ye’ll know now that the jig’s all up!”