Coming up from the rear, they surprised Stanley and one other
peacefully boiling coffee in a lard pail which they must have
stolen in the night from the ranch junk heap behind the
blacksmith shop. The three peered out at them from a distant
ambush, made sure that there were only two men there, and went on
to the disputed part of the meadows. There the four were
pottering about, craning necks now and then toward the ranch
buildings as if they half feared an assault of some kind. Good
Indian led the way back to the stable.
"If there was any way of getting around up there without being
seen," he began thoughtfully, "but there isn't. And while I
think of it," he added, "we don't want to let the women know
about this."
"They're liable to suspect something," Wally reminded dryly, "if
one of us gets laid out cold."
Good Indian laughed. "It doesn't look as if he could hit
anything smaller than a haystack. And anyway, I think I'm the
boy he's after, though I don't see why.
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