Hank shook with silent laughter. "_That's_ whar he got it, huh?" he exulted. "Cussed if he warn't trimmed proper. I might 'a' knowed it war you as done it by th' way it looked." He shook again and then became alert "Thar he is now; an' his friends air with him. Keep yer primin' dry, boy." "I reckoned I could shake a laig," said a voice behind them, and they looked over their shoulders to see Jim Ogden at their heels, and close behind him came his partner; "but you two kiyotes plumb made me hoof it. What's yer hurry, anyhow?" The little group in front of the corral gate shifted in indecision and looked inquiringly at the horse-dealer. There was a difference between stirring up trouble between themselves and Tom Boyd for the purpose of manhandling _him_, and stirring it up between themselves and the four trappers. Schoolcraft said something out of the corner of his mouth and the group melted away into the little shack at the corral gate. He remained where he was, scowling frankly at his enemy. "Looks like they war a-fixin' ter try it on us," growled Hank, returning the scowl with interest. "Let's go over an' say how-de-do ter 'em. This here town's been too peaceable, _anyhow_." "What's th' trouble?" asked Ogden, curiously, his partner pressing against him to hear the answer. "Ain't none," answered Tom. "Thar might 'a' been, but it's blowed over." "Wall," drawled Ogden. "Ye never kin tell about these hyar frontier winds. Yer th' partisan o' this hyar expedition, Tom. We'll foller yer lead. It's all one ter us whar ye go; we're with ye." Schoolcraft, knowing that trouble with these plainsmen would almost certainly end in serious bloodshed, shrugged his shoulders and entered the shack; and after him, from behind the corral wall darted the slender Mexican. "Thar!" exclaimed Tom, pointing. "See that greaser? Keep yer eyes skinned fer him. He's bad medicine." "Looks like he war fixin' fer ambushin' us, hidin' behind that wall," growled Hank. "He's got a fine head o' hair ter peel," snorted Zeb Houghton, whose reputation in regard to scalp lifting was anything but to his credit. The fingers of his left hand closed involuntarily with a curling motion and the wrist turned suggestively; and the Mexican, well back from the dirty window of the shack, felt a rising of his stomach and was poor company for the rest of the day.