“Ha, ha!” gurgled Sam. “That fusillade sounded like a pretty good imitation of a Mexican Revolution, didn’t it?”
“Well, rather!” cried Don. “Awful forward things, aren’t they? Gee! but for that confounded root I’d have been all right.” His face wore a vastly relieved expression.
“We have had another proof that naturalists speak the truth,” remarked Dave. “They tell us that peccaries are often very bold, and attack people without provocation—they do!”
“Yes,” grinned Don, “for we never said a single word to them.”
The three began forcing their way through the thicket, soon reaching their mustangs. Leading the animals toward the edge of the woods they were presently about to mount when Sam’s loud exclamation: “Hello—look, fellows!” made his companions pause.
A distant horseman, riding at a speed which seemed to indicate that he was in the greatest hurry, was riding over the plain.
The rider evidently observed the boys at about the same time for he immediately changed his course, heading toward them.
“He doesn’t look like a bandit,” remarked Dave, with a smile.
“Nor a cowboy either,” said Sam.
“Nor a Texas Ranger,” supplemented Don. “Wonder why he’s in such an all-fired rush—I don’t see any peccaries chasing him!”