Connors' trail.
Evidently the fool white man was either crazy or had original and
startling ideas about the way to rest a horse when hard pressed, which
pleased them much, since he had lost so much time. The pleasures of the
war-trail would be vastly greater if all white men had similar ideas.
Hopalong, the light of fighting burning strong in his eyes, watched them
sweep nearer and nearer, splendid examples of their type and seeming to
be a part of their mounts. Then two shots rang out in quick succession
and a cloud of pungent smoke arose lazily from the edge of the arroyo
as the warriors fell from their mounts not sixty yards from the hidden
marksman.
Mr. Connors' rifle spat fire once to make assurance doubly sure and he
hastily rejoined his friend as that person climbed out of the arroyo.
"Huh! They must have been half-breeds!" snorted Red in great disgust,
watching his friend shed sand from his clothes. "I allus opined that
'Paches was too blamed slick to bite on a game like that."
"Well, they are purty 'lusive animals, 'Paches; but there are
exceptions," replied Hopalong, smiling at the success of their scheme.
"Them two ain't 'Paches--they're the exceptions. But let me tell you
that's a good game, just the same. It is as long as they don't see the
second trail in time. Didn't Buck and Skinny get two that way?"
"Yes, I reckon so.
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