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Every stone and log, every bit of hard ground in my path, served to help hide my trail. Herky-Jerky very likely had the cowboy's skill at finding tracks, but I left few traces of my presence on that long slope. Only an Indian or a hound could have trailed me. The timber was small and rough brush grew everywhere. Presently I saw light ahead, and I came to an open space.
By way of reply old Hiram's rifle boomed out twice, and two heavy slugs crashed through the roof, sending down a shower of dust and bits of decayed wood. "Thet's jist to show what a 45-90 can do," remarked Bill. Bud reloaded his weapon while Bill shot several times. Herky-Jerky had his gun in hand, but contented himself with peering from different chinks between the logs.
I caught the same strange growl, the note of on-sweeping fury. Again the creepy cold went over me. I felt my face blanch, and the skin tighten over my cheeks. I dashed into the cabin, crying: "Fire! Fire! Fire!" "Whoop! It's the kid!" yelled Herky-Jerky. He was lying near the door, red as a brick in the face, and panting hard.
Herky-Jerky watched me with extreme attention, all the time grinning. Then he held out a handful of grubs. "If you ketch a trout on thet I'll swaller the pole!" he exclaimed. I stooped low and approached the spring, being careful to keep out of sight. "You forgot to spit on yer bait, kid," said Bill. They all laughed in a way to rouse my ire.
I did not have the heart to speak to Dick or look at him, so I closed my eyes and fell asleep. It was another day when I awoke. I felt all right except for a soreness under my arms and across my chest where the lasso had chafed and bruised me. Still I did not recover my good spirits. Herky-Jerky kept on grinning and cracking jokes on my failure to escape.
Buell leaped to his feet, his ruddy face white. "Greaser!" he exclaimed. "Thet was about where Greaser cashed," relied Bill, coolly knocking the ashes from his pipe. "No, Bill, you're wrong. Here comes Greaser, runnin' like an Indian." "Look at the blood! He's been plugged, all right!" exclaimed Herky-Jerky.
Never on earth could he have stopped a pig in a lane. A stubby beard covered the lower half of his brick-red face. The most striking thing about Herky-Jerky, however, was his perpetual grin. He looked very jolly, yet every time he opened his mouth it was to utter bad language. He cursed the fire, the pans, the coffee, the biscuits, all of which he handled most skillfully.
I beard a crunching of gravel. Even as I wheeled I felt a tremendous pull on the lasso and I seemed to be sailing in the air. I got a blurred glimpse of Herky-Jerky leaning back on the taut lasso. Then I plunged down, slid over the rocks, and went souse into the spring. Down, down I plunged, and the shock of the icy water seemed to petrify me.
Bill untied the rope that held Dick's arms, but left his feet bound. I was freed entirely, and it felt so good to have the use of all my limbs once more that I pranced round in a rather lively way. Either my antics annoyed Herky-Jerky or he thought it a good opportunity to show his skill with a lasso, for he shot the loop over me so hard that it stung my back.
His face worked, his breath hissed between his teeth, as with trembling hand he examined the front of his coat. A big bullet had torn through both lapels. Bill stuck his pudgy finger in the hole. "The second bullet made thet. It was from old Hiram's gun a 45-90!" "Bent an' Leslie! My God! They're shootin' to kill!" cried Buell. "I should smile," replied Herky-Jerky.
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