“Haw! haw! Ho! ho!” roared the merry lumbermen.
Then they trooped into the cabin. Buell headed the line, and Herky, sullenly reloading his revolver, came last. At first they groped around in the dim light, stumbling over everything. Part of the time they were in the light space near the door, and the rest I could not see them. I scarcely dared to breathe. I felt a creepy chill, and my eyesight grew dim.
“Who does this stuff belong to, anyhow?” Buell was saying. “An' what was thet bear doin' in here?”
“He was roped up—hyar's the hitch,” answered Bud.
“An' hyar's a rifle—Winchester—ain't been used much. Buell, it's thet kid's!”
I heard rapid footsteps and smothered exclamations.
“Take it from me, you're right!” ejaculated Buell. “We jest missed him. Herky, them tracks out there? Somebody's with this boy—who?”
“It's Jim Williams,” put in Dick Leslie, cool-voiced and threatening.
The little stillness that followed his words was broken by Buell.
“Naw! 'Twasn't Williams. You can't bluff this bunch, Leslie. By your own words Williams is lookin' for us, an' if he's lookin' for anybody I know he's lookin' for 'em. See!”