"They shore is some row going on!" exclaimed Slim, as he clapped spurs to his already well-doing horse, and shot ahead of the others. "How many in your bunch?" he called to the professor.
"There are four of us—Professor Wright, myself and two helpers, Edward Newton and Silas Thorpe," was the answer. "But the other day we engaged some Mexicans and burros, so our party is now about eight."
"And how many are trying to rush you?" asked the foreman, slightly checking his horse to accommodate its pace to the slower gait of the professor's animal.
"I don't know. There seemed about a dozen who were threatening
Professor Wright when he told me to go for help."
"Not such bad odds," murmured Bud.
"Is it a real fight?" asked Nort, his eyes sparkling.
"Sounds like it," commented the western ranch lad. "But we'll have to lay low. No guns," he added regretfully.
Dick turned to look back toward the ranch buildings, now out of sight owing to the uneven nature of the country. He might have been calculating whether it would be possible to go back and get weapons.
But he said nothing on this score, though he did let out an exclamation:
"There's another bunch coming along the path."