“Shore! An' high time. I jest hope I get a look down my old 'forty-four' at thet Beasley.”
“In that case I hope you hold straighter than times I've seen you.”
“Milt Dale, I'm a good shot,” declared Roy, stoutly.
“You're no good on movin' targets.”
“Wal, mebbe so. But I'm not lookin' for a movin' target when I meet up with Beasley. I'm a hossman, not a hunter. You're used to shootin' flies off deer's horns, jest for practice.”
“Roy, can we make my camp by to-morrow night?” queried Dale, more seriously.
“We will, if each of us has to carry one of the girls. But they'll do it or die. Dale, did you ever see a gamer girl than thet kid Bo?”
“Me! Where'd I ever see any girls?” ejaculated Dale. “I remember some when I was a boy, but I was only fourteen then. Never had much use for girls.”
“I'd like to have a wife like that Bo,” declared Roy, fervidly.
There ensued a moment's silence.