“Yes, I reckon so.  But what’ll we do now?  What’s the next play?” asked Red, hurriedly, his eyes searching the sky-line of the hills.  “The rest of the coyotes will be here purty soon, an’ they’ll be madder than ever now.  An’ you better gimme back that gun, too.”

“Take yore old gun—­who wants the blamed thing, anyhow?” Hopalong demanded, throwing the weapon at his friend as he ran to bring up the hidden horse.  When he returned he grinned pleasantly.  “Why, we’ll go on like we was greased for calamity, that’s what we’ll do.  Did you reckon we was going to play leap-frog around here an’ wait for the rest of them paint-shops, like a blamed fool pair of idiots?”

“I didn’t know what you might do, remembering how you acted when I met you,” retorted Red, shifting his cartridge belt so the empty loops were behind and out of the way.  “But I shore knowed what we ought to do, all right.”

“Well, mebby you also know how many’s headed this way; do you?”

“You’ve got me stumped there; but there’s a round dozen, anyway,” Red replied.  “You see, the three that chased me were out scouting ahead of the main bunch; an’ I didn’t have no time to take no blasted census.”

“Then we’ve got to hit the home trail, an’ hit it hard.  Wind up that four-laigged excuse of yourn, an’ take my dust,” Hopalong responded, leading the way.  “If we can get home there’ll be a lot of disgusted braves hitting the high spots on the back trail trying to find a way out.  Buck an’ the rest of the boys will be a whole lot pleased, too.  We can muster thirty men in two hours if we gets to Buckskin, an’ that’s twenty more than we’ll need.”

“Tell you one thing, Hoppy; we can get as far as Powers’ old ranch house, an’ that’s shore,” replied Red, thoughtfully.

“Yes!” exploded his companion in scorn and pity.  “That old sieve of a shack ain’t good enough for me to die in, no matter what you think about it.  Why, it’s as full of holes as a stiff hat in a melee.  Yo’re on the wrong trail; think again.”

Mr. Cassidy objected not because he believed that Powers’ old ranch house was unworthy of serious consideration as a place of refuge and defence, but for the reason that he wished to reach Buckskin so his friends might all get in on the treat.  Times were very dull on the ranch, and this was an occasion far too precious to let slip by.  Besides, he then would have the pleasure of leading his friends against the enemy and battling on even terms.  If he sought shelter he and Red would have to fight on the defensive, which was a game he hated cordially because it put him in a relatively subordinate position and thereby hurt his pride.

“Let me tell you that it’s a whole lot better than thin air with a hard-working circle around us—­an’ you know what that means,” retorted Mr. Connors.  “But if you don’t want to take a chance in the shack, why mebby we can make Wallace’s, or the Cross-O-Cross.  That is, if we don’t get turned out of our way.”