That is,
unless you are made of the stuff that stands up an' fights 'stead of
running away. I reckon I ain't none mistaken in any of you. You'll all
be there when things get hot."
"You can bet the shack _I_ won't do no trail-hitting," growled Boston,
glancing at Slivers, who squirmed a little under the hint.
"Well, I'm glued to the crowd; you can't lose me, fellers," Slivers
remarked, re-crossing his legs uneasily. "Are we going to begin it from
here?"
"We ought to spread out cautions and surround Jackson's, or wherever
Edwards is," Laramie Joe suggested. "That's my--"
"Yo're right! Now you've hit it plumb on the head!" interrupted Harlan,
slapping Laramie heartily across the back. "What did I tell you about
our brains?" he cried, enthusiastically. He had been on the point of
suggesting that plan of operations when Laramie took the words out
of his mouth. "I'd never thought of that, Laramie," he lied, his face
beaming. "Why, we've got 'em licked to a finish right now!"
"This _is_ a hummer of a game," laughed Slivers. "But how about the
Bar-20 crowd?"
"I've told you that already," replied the proprietor.
"You bet it's a hummer," cried Boston, reaching for the whiskey bottle
under cover of the excitement and enthusiasm.
Harlan pushed it away with his foot and raised his clenched fist. "Do
you wonder I didn't think of that plan?" he demanded.
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