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Updated: June 20, 2025
His right hand shoved the muzzle of his gun beneath the man's right ear. "Don't move or let one yip out of you!" he hissed tensely. After one convulsive start the stranger stood motionless. "Nary move nor yip," he whispered confidentially into the night. "And if that gun's a light pull, be mighty careful of the trigger!" "Talk and talk quiet," said Sandy. "How many are there of you?"
Had the light been more certain some of them must have been hit, for those men out there knew how to handle rifles much better than did any of the Pony Rider Boys. With wild whoops and yells, keeping up a continuous fusillade, the plucky band kept straight on. "It's the Rangers!" They heard the words plainly, uttered by one of the bandits. "Yip! Yip! Kyeeaw!" screamed the fat boy. "Yip! Yip!
There were thirty-four of them, racing on up the road at top speed. "How far now, Cap?" called the lieutenant, while he yelled and lashed. "Still coming fast, and getting closer." "Yip! Yip! Gwan with you!" Pretty soon "How far now, Cap?" The lieutenant could see nothing, behind, and the Indians had not uttered a sound. "Still coming. 'Most within shooting distance." "Yip! Hi! Yip! Yip!"
Then, after what seemed minutes, he uttered his coyote cry: "Yip, yip, yip-ee!" It was followed by a terrific burst of fire from the wagon train. The signal had been given at the opportune time. The bandits faltered. They hadn't expected this! The Terror had hoped to find the wagon train still asleep and defenseless.
Now, you march to your own room and STAY there. Do you hear? And don't you dare let another yip out of you till you can talk sense." Good Indian stood upon the porch, and heard every word of that. He heard also the shuffle of feet as Miss Georgie urged Evadna to her room it sounded almost as if she dragged her there by force and he rolled a cigarette with fingers that did not so much as quiver.
Oh, don't doubt that! I realized right then that he had been taking it for years, ever since they had counted his father out, with the whole house yelling for the stuff to get him, too. He'd been hanging on, hoping for a fluke to save him. He'd been hanging on, and he didn't squeal, either, while he was doing it. Not one yip out of him!
"Right or wrong," said the Patchwork Girl, "to be different is to be distinguished. Now, in my case, I'm just like all other Patchwork Girls because I'm the only one there is. But, tell me, where did you come from?" "The Yip Country," said he. "Is that in the Land of Oz?" "Of course," replied the Frogman. "And do you know that your Ruler, Ozma of Oz, has been stolen?"
His merry "yip, yip, yip," for partridge up a tree, or his long, hilarious, "Yow, yow, yow," when despite all orders he chased some deer, were totally distinct from the angry "Yap, yap," he gave for the bear up the tree, or the "Grrryapgrryap," with which he voiced his hatred of the porcupine. But now it was the "Yap, yap," as when he had treed the bears.
There was no King or Queen in the Yip Country, so the simple inhabitants naturally came to look upon the Frogman as their leader as well as their counselor in all times of emergency.
"Salt those away before any more adventurers blow in!" he said, half sharply, half jocularly. "And don't let the White Moll slip you at any cost. Remember! She's bound to come to you again. Play her and send out the call. You understand, don't you? There's never been a yip out of the police. Our methods are too good for that. Look at the Sparrow to-night.
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