As he got halfway around the circle he heard
Johnny singing a mournful lay, and soon a black bulk loomed up in the
dark ahead of him. "That you, Kid?" he asked. "That you, Johnny?" he
repeated, a little louder.
The song stopped abruptly. "Shore," replied Johnny. "We're going to
have trouble aplenty to-night. Glad daylight ain't so very far off. That
cussed li'l rake of a bummer got by me an' into the herd. He's shore
raising Ned to-night, the li'l monkey: it's getting serious, Red."
"I'll shoot that yearling at daylight, damn him!" retorted Red. "I
should 'a' done it a week ago. He's picked the worst time for his cussed
devilment! You ride right in an' get the boys, an' get 'em out here
quick. The whole herd's on its toes waiting for the signal; an' the wink
of an eye'll send 'em off. God only knows what'll happen between now
and daylight! If the wind should change an' blow down from the north,
they'll be off as shore as shooting. One whiff of Bennett's Creek is all
that's needed, Kid; an'--"
"Oh, pshaw!" interposed Johnny. "There ain't no wind at all now. It's
been quiet for an hour."
"Yes; an' that's one of the things that's worrying me. It means a
change, shore."
"Not always; we'll come out of this all right," assured Johnny, but he
spoke without his usual confidence. "There ain't no use--" he paused
as he felt the air stir, and he was conscious of Red's heavy breathing.
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