whooping, thus expressing their satisfied delight in the life of a jolly outlaw. Rattlesnake Rogers, who stood at the heads of the mules, jerked a little too vigorously at the rein of the tender-mouthed Donder, who reared and emitted a loud, protesting snort of pain. Instantly Fritz, with a scream of anger, flew at the bulky Rogers and began to assiduously pommel that surprised freebooter with his fists.
“Villain!” shouted Fritz, “dog, bigstiff! Dot mule he has a soreness by his mouth. I vill knock off your shoulders mit your head—robbermans!”
“Yi-yi!” howled Rattlesnake, roaring with laughter and ducking his head, “somebody git this here sourkrout off’n me!”
One of the band yanked Fritz back by the coattail, and the woods rang with Rattlesnake’s vociferous comments.
“The dog-goned little wienerwurst,” he yelled, amiably. “He’s not so much of a skunk, for a Dutchman. Took up for his animile plum quick, didn’t he? I like to see a man like his hoss, even if it is a mule. The dad-blamed little Limburger he went for me, didn’t he! Whoa, now, muley—I ain’t a-goin’ to hurt your mouth agin any more.”
Perhaps the mail would not have been tampered with had not Ben Moody, the lieutenant, possessed certain wisdom that seemed to promise more spoils.
“Say, Cap,” he said, addressing Hondo Bill, “there’s liable to be good pickings in these mail sacks.
