"Yo're a pair of hogs," grumbled Billy, riding off. "I'll get square, someday. Hope they lick you!" "Run along, little boy," jeered Johnny. "Oh, gee! Here they come!" he cried as Billy rode behind the chaparral. "Look at 'em!" "_Let_ 'em come!" cried Billy, returning. "We'll lick 'em!" "Get out of here!" shouted Red, drawing his Winchester from its sheath. "For G-d's sake, do what yo're told! Want to let Meeker win out?" "Nope; so long," and Billy galloped away. "That ain't a herd!" cried Johnny, elated. "That's only a handful. It's a scrawny looking bunch, men an' all. Come on, you coyotes!" he yelled, waving his rifle. "You chump; this ain't the real play--it's a blind, a wedge," Red replied. "They're pushing a big one through somewhere else." "I'm shore glad Billy went, an' not me," Johnny remarked. "There's Morgan," Red remarked. "I know his riding." "Bet you won't know it when th' show's over. An' there's Chick, too. He needs a licking. You won't know his riding, neither." The herd came rapidly forward and the men who were guarding it waved their sombreros and urged it on. Red, knowing that he would be crowded if he waited until the cows were upon him, threw his rifle to his shoulder and began to shoot rapidly, and cow after cow dropped, and the rush was stopped. Before the H2 men could get free from the panic-stricken herd Red and Johnny were within a hundred yards of them and when they looked up it was to see Red covering them, while Johnny, pleased by the reduced range, was dropping more cows. "Stop!" Red shouted, angrily. "Huh!" exclaimed Johnny, looking up. "Oh, I thought you was talking to me," he muttered, and then dropped another cow. "What in h--l do you think yo're doing?" yelled Morgan. "Just practising," retorted Johnny. He quickly swung his rifle on Chick. "Hands up! No more of that!" "You've got gall, shooting our cows!" replied Chick. "Get 'em up, boy!" snapped Johnny, and Chick slowly raised his arms, speaking rapidly. "What do you take us for!" shouted Ed Joyce, frantic at his helplessness. "Coyotes," replied Red. "An' since coyotes don't ride, you get off'n them cayuses, _pronto_." "Like h--l!" retorted Ed. Johnny's rifle cracked and Ed tumbled off his dead horse, and when he arose the air was blue. "Nex' gent say 'I,'" called Johnny. "I'll be d----d if I'll stand for that!" yelled Morgan, reaching for his gun. The next thing he knew was that the air was full of comets, and that his horse was dead. Chick sullenly dismounted and stood watching Red, who was now in vastly better spirits, since the H2 rifles were on the horses and too far away from their owners to be of any use. The range was too great for good revolver shooting even if they could get them into action. "Watch 'em," said Red, firing. Chick's horse, stung to frenzy by the wound, kicked up its heels and bolted, leaving the three punchers stranded ten miles from home. "Turn around an' hit th' back trail," ordered Red. "No back talk!"