"How are you, Kid?" asked Bud of the injured cowboy as Mr. Merkel sat at a table tearing open the various envelopes.
"Oh, I'll be up and around again shortly," was the answer. "If you figure on starting off after any more Indians I could get ready in about two quivers of a steer's nose."
"Guess there won't be any more Indians around here for a while," observed Bud. "We taught those Yaquis a lesson."
"Now you're shoutin'!" exclaimed Yellin' Kid, though it was he, rather than Bud, who spoke in a loud voice—hence the Kid's name. He just couldn't seem to speak in ordinary tones, but appeared to take it for granted that every one was deaf, and so shouted at them.
Suddenly the quiet reading and attention that Mr. Merkel had been giving his letters was broken as he jumped up, scattering the papers to the floor of the bunk house. He held in his hand a single sheet that seemed to cause him great surprise, not to say anger, and he exclaimed:
"Well, it's come, just as I feared it would! Now we're in for some hot times!"
"What's the matter, Dad?" asked Bud, looking toward the door in which his cousins now stood, having finished reading their letters.
"Not another Indian uprising, is it?" asked Bud.
"Almost as bad!" his father answered. "We're going to have trouble. I might have known things were too good to last!"
"What sort of trouble?" inquired Nort.