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Updated: June 6, 2025
After a long interval fraught with anxiety and suspense, during which the horsemen approached steadily, growing more distinct, Blinky suddenly burst out: "Fellars, shore as you're born it's Wiggate." "The horse dealer from St. Louis!" ejaculated Pan in tremendous relief. "Blink, I believe you're right. I never saw one of those men before, or the horses either."
The cowman stared up the depression, blinking his eyes in the snow glare. The impatient Sergeant gripped his arm. "Well, what is it? Are they coming?" "You bet, an' about dead, from the looks of 'em. Them fellars ain't lookin' fer nuthin'. I reckon I could stand up straight yere an' they 'd never see me. Take a look yerself; it's safe 'nough."
"I'm your man; but, stranger, you must allow me to pay. You see, I've won a trifle here. My right to pay for the drinks." "Oh! I have no objection." "Well, then, let's all licker! I stand drinks all round. What say you, fellars?" A murmur of assent answered the interrogatory. "Good!" continued the speaker. "Hyar, bar-keeper! drinks for the crowd!"
Them fellars ain't many hours ahead, an' are likely ter make camp furst part o' ther night anyhow. They 'll feel safe onct hid in them sand-hills, an' if they don't git no sight of us, most likely they won't even post no guard. Thet 's when we want ter dig in the spurs. Ain't that about the right program, Sergeant?"
Talkin' makes him cough an' that fetches up the blood.... Besides, I reckon I'm the one to tell y'u how your dad an' uncle got killed. Tad didn't see it done, an' he was bad hurt when it happened. Shore all the fellars left have their idee aboot it. But I've got it straight." "Colter tell me now," cried Ellen. "Wal, all right.
"Reckon we don't agree on figgerin' thet. I say fifteen hundred haid. Your dad, who's aboot crazy, reckons two thousand. An' the other fellars come in between." "Fifteen hundred horses!" ejaculated Pan intensely. "Heavens, but it's great!" "Pan, I wish to Gawd we hadn't ketched any," declared Blinky, in hard fierce voice. That brought Pan back to earth.
In due time all the horses were ridden and driven back to camp, where a temporary corral had been roped off in a niche of the slope. "Wal, fellars, it's find a hoss you haven't rid before," sang out Blinky, "an' everyone fer himself." There was a stout, round-barreled buckskin that Pan's father had his eye on. "Don't like his looks, Dad," warned Pan.
"Wal, heah comes the Ridin' Kid from Loco Range," said one, edging near to Pan, with a smile on his shining red face. "Sonny, yo're forkin' a grand hoss, but you forgot to saddle him," remarked another, with a twinkle of gray eyes. "Fellars, this heah is Panhandle Smith, kid of the homesteader, over by the river. I heerd Pan's a trick bareback rider."
There came a crash, a groan, and then the strike and pound of hoofs as the horse struggled up. Apparently he had rolled over his master. "Help, fellars!" yelled Wilson, quick to leap down over the little bank, and in the dim light to grasp the halter. The three men dragged the horse out and securely tied him close to a tree. That done, they peered down into the depression.
At this startling news a wailing cry broke from Nugget, and an instant later a gruff voice called distinctly: "Come out of that one at a time, young fellars. Move lively, an' you won't be harmed." There was dead silence for a few seconds, and then the command was repeated in a more peremptory tone. "They ain't got no shootin' weapons," whispered Batters; "only short sticks.
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