his neighbor, so Pringle can't get through. Then we'll wait till
daylight."

"That may suit you," retorted Nueces. "Me, I don't intend for any
man that will buck a gun with a lamp to throw in with Kit Foy while I
stuff my paunch. That sort is just the build to do a mile in nothing
flat--and it's only three miles to the hill. I'm goin' now, and
I'm goin' hellity-larrup! Come on, anybody with more brains than
belly--I'm off to light a line of soap weeds on that hill so this Mr.
Pringle-With-the-Punch don't walk himself by. If he wants up he'll
have to hoof it around the other side of the hill. We won't make
any light on the north side. That Bar Cross outfit is too damn
inquisitive. The night herders would see it; they'd smell trouble;
and like as not the whole bilin' of 'em would come pryin' down here
by daylight. Guess they haven't heard about Foy or they'd be here now.
They're strong for Foy. Come on, you waddies!"

Mr. Pringle-With-the-Punch, squeezed, cramped, and muddy under the
trough, heard this supperless plan with displeasure; his hope had been
otherwise. He heard the sound of hurried mounting; from the thunder
of galloping hoofs it would seem that a goodly number of the posse had
come up to the specifications laid down by the old ranger.

The others clanked away, leaving their horses standing. The man
Robbins grumbled from saddle to saddle and gathered canteens. As he
filled them from the supply pipe directly above Mr. Pringle's head, he
set them on the ground within easy reach of Mr. Pringle's hand.
Acting on this hint Mr. Pringle's hand withdrew a canteen, quite
unostentatiously. An unnecessary precaution, as it turned out; Mr.
Robbins, having filled that batch, went to the horses farther down the