"Huh! Never touched him! But he's edging off a-plenty. See him cuss you.
What's he calling you, anyhow?"
"Aw, shut up! How the devil do _I_ know? I don't talk with my arms."
"Are you superstitious, Red?"
"No! Shut up!"
"Well, I am. See that feller over there? If he gets in front of us it's
a shore sign that somebody's going to get hurt. He'll have plenty of
time to get cover an' pick us off as we come up."
"Don't you worry--his cayuse is deader'n ours. They must 'a' been
pushing on purty hard the last few days. See it stumble?--what'd I tell
you!"
"Yes; but they're gaining on us slow but shore. We've got to make a
stand purty soon--how much further do you reckon that infernal shack is,
anyhow?" Hopalong asked sharply.
"'T ain't fur off--see it any minute now."
"Here," remarked Hopalong, holding out his rifle, "stencil yore mark on
his hide; catch him just as he strikes the top of that little rise."
"Ain't got time--that shack can't be much further."
And it wasn't, for as they galloped over a rise they saw, half a mile
ahead of them, an adobe building in poor state of preservation. It was
Powers' old ranch house, and as they neared it, they saw that there was
no doubt about the holes.
"Told you it was a sieve," grunted Hopalong, swinging in on the tail of
his companion. "Not worth a hang for anything," he added bitterly.
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