The End of a Trail
ford. "He's a cussed sight more dangerous than a plague."
Another rider joined them from the south. "Dan'l Boone at it again?" he asked, grinning.
"He is!" snapped Purdy.
Harrison quieted his horse. "You fellers take him home with you, an' keep him there. He shoots at anythin' that moves! I'm goin' to take root right here till he gets down below. Mebby he might take me for somethin' suspicious."
"If I'd 'a' got that chicken-thief," placidly remarked Gates, "I'd 'a' slipped it into Cookie's coop tonight, cussed if I wouldn't!"
"You keep away from his coop," warned Fleming, with a solemn shake of his head. "He's another that shoots at anythin' that moves."
Holbrook looked at Harrison. "You takin' th' north end tonight?"
"Yes; but I'm stayin' right here till Davy Crockett gets down on th' range. Don't you move, Frank; he'll likely blow you apart if you do."
"Glad he ain't ridin' in yore place. Good night, fellers."
The group split up and four of the riders rode toward the canyon trail.
"Take th' lead, Art," said Purdy. "You know that ledge better'n we do."
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