A peeved voice raised loudly in the twilight. "Hey! D--n you! Look out where yo're shootin'! That slug ricochetted plumb between our heads! Ain't you got no sense a-tall?" "That's right! Start kickin'!" retorted Gates at the top of his voice, "Didn't you ever hear a slug before? Don't you know that th' slug you can hear is past you?" "That so? How'd _you_ like to listen to one _now_?" angrily shouted the objector. "How do _I_ know that th' _next_ one is goin' past?" "Ah, go to h--l!" jeered Gates. "Little things make big bumps on _you_, you sage hen!" "_Little_ things!" roared a second voice. "_Little_ things! Would you _lissen_ to him? It sounded like a train of cars to me, d--d if it didn't!" "Thinks he's treed another cougar," laughed a third voice. The three appeared upon the plateau and rode toward the disgruntled marksman, their hands up over their heads in mock anxiety and surrender. Down from the north rolled a swift, rhythmic drumming, and Harrison, eagerly alert, his rifle balanced in his hands, slid to a dusty stop. "What is it?" he demanded. "Reckon it was Cookie's pet ki-yote," grinned Gates. "There ain't nothin' with wings, even, can beat 'em. He just melted." "Yo're a d--d fool!" swore Harrison angrily. "Huh! I could 'a' told you that long ago," observed Purdy. "You just catchin' on?" "I saw somethin' move," retorted Gates. "It slid past that crack an' th' sun caught it purty fair, so I let drive. How th' devil do you suppose _I_ knowed it was a ki-yote? Think I'm one of them mejums an' has second sight?" "Never!" chuckled Fleming. "People make mistakes, but th' man don't live, free an' unrestrained, that would think you had second sight. He might even be doubtful about th' first sight. You want to practice second _look_. Look twice, pray, an' then count ten, Dan'l, old trapper." "He oughta be penned up nights," growled Sanford. "He's a cussed sight more dangerous than a plague." Another rider joined them from the south. "Dan'l Boone at it again?" he asked, grinning. "He is!" snapped Purdy. Harrison quieted his horse. "You fellers take him home with you, an' keep him there. He shoots at anythin' that moves! I'm goin' to take root right here till he gets down below. Mebby he might take me for somethin' suspicious." "If I'd 'a' got that chicken-thief," placidly remarked Gates, "I'd 'a' slipped it into Cookie's coop tonight, cussed if I wouldn't!" "You keep away from his coop," warned Fleming, with a solemn shake of his head. "He's another that shoots at anythin' that moves." Holbrook looked at Harrison. "You takin' th' north end tonight?" "Yes; but I'm stayin' right here till Davy Crockett gets down on th' range. Don't you move, Frank; he'll likely blow you apart if you do." "Glad he ain't ridin' in yore place. Good night, fellers." The group split up and four of the riders rode toward the canyon trail. "Take th' lead. Art," said Purdy. "You know that ledge better'n we do."