scattered into many smaller ones and all swept off to the east. The
rescuing band overtook them and, several hours later, when seated
around a table in Tom Lee's saloon, Muddy Wells, a count was taken of
them, which was pleasing in its facts.

"We was huntin' coyotes when we saw yu," said a smiling puncher who
was known as Salvation Carroll chiefly because he wasn't.

"Yep! They've been stalkin' Tom's chickens," supplied Waffles, the
champion poker player of the outfit. Tom Lee's chickens could whip
anything of their kind for miles around and were reverenced
accordingly.

"Sho! Is that so?" Asked Frenchy with mild incredulity, such a state
of affairs being deplorable.

"She shore is!" answered Tex Le Blanc, and then, as an afterthought,
he added, "Where'd yu hit th' War-whoops?"

"`Bout four hours back. This here's th' second time I've headed for
this place-last time they chased me to Las Cruces."

"That so?" Asked Bigfoot Baker, a giant. "Ain't they allus
interferin', now? Anyhow, they're better'n coyotes."

"They was purty well heeled," suggested Tex, glancing at a bunch of
repeating Winchesters of late model which lay stacked in a corner.
"Charley here said he thought they was from th' way yore cayuse
looked, didn't yu, Charley?" Charley nodded and filled his pipe.