"Ow-wow! You poor flap!" bawled the erstwhile humorist, who had picked up a splinter. "Leggo my leg, or I'll roll you!"
But it was Riley Tyler who was rolled, and rolled thoroughly.
"You boys stop that!" directed Hazel, appearing in the doorway with a bucket. "Acting just like overgrown kids! You ought to be ashamed! Bill, I'll take that bucket of water now, and Riley, how about fetching in an armful of wood for your auntie?"
The two men started to obey, but stopped short in their tracks.
Billy cocked a listening ear. "Wasn't that a shot?"
"Down the draw," responded Riley.
"Near the Hillsville trail," was Hazel's opinion. "There goes another, and another."
"It's no hunter," declared Billy. "I can hear horses galloping."
Within five minutes they three saw a horse come galloping. He was tearing up the draw. The man on his back was half-turned about in the saddle, a rifle at his shoulder. He fired. They could not see what he was firing at. There was a bend in the draw concealing what was behind him.
But they could hear the galloping of the other horses quite plainly. The drum of the racing hoofs grew louder. Three horses swept round the bend in the draw. They were followed by two others. The pursuers uttered a yell as they sighted the house. The pursued fired twice without effect. There was a crackle of shots from the five horsemen. Apparently none took effect on either the pursued or his mount.