"But are the masks any good?" Dick asked. "If they're relics of the war they're likely to be old and no good. And a gas mask that won't keep gas out is worse than none at all."
"You're right there!" exclaimed Sim Roller, who had proposed the matter. "Some of the masks are the same as the boys used in France. But others are new ones they got from the gov'ment lately to decorate the meetin' room. I reckon they'd be fresh, with charcoal in and everything needed."
"Will you see if you can get some for us?" asked Billee, who was in charge during the forced absence of Bud.
"Sure!"
"Good!" cried Nort. "Then we'll come back and have another go at these fellows!"
"Yes, it will need another go," remarked Billee, looking at the entrance to the defile out of which a faint mist was still floating. "We don't dare go back at 'em now, unprotected. They're regular devils, that's what they are! Devils!"
"Wonder what their game is?" mused Dick as he and his brother, with the other cowboys, moved to where their horses were picketed in charge of the guard.
"They want to keep us out of that glen," suggested Nort.
"But why?" went on Dick.
"So they can poison more cattle and bust up this ranch and rustle what stock they don't kill," was what Nort answered.