It was this trail that led to the northwest, and
it was this trail that they followed without pausing.
When they had covered fifty miles they sighted the Cross Bar O ranch
where they hoped to secure fresh mounts. As they rode up to the ranch
house the owner, Bud Wallace, came around the corner and saw them.
"Hullo, boys! What deviltry are yu up to now?" he asked. Buck
leaped from his mount, followed by the others, and shoved his sombrero
back on his head as he started to remove the saddle.
"We're trailin' a bunch of murderers. They ambushed Johnny an' blame
near killed him. I stopped here to get fresh cayuses."
"Yu did right!" replied Wallace heartily. Then raising his voice he
shouted to some of his men who were near the corral to bring up the
seven best horses they could rope. Then he told the cook to bring out
plenty of food and drink.
"I got four punchers what ain't doin' nothin' but eat," he
suggested.
"Much obliged, Wallace, but there's only four of `em, an' we'd
rather get `em ourselves-Johnny'ud feel better," replied Buck,
throwing his saddle on the horse that was led up to him.
"How's yore cartridges-got plenty?" Persisted Wallace.
"Two hundred apiece," responded Buck, springing into his saddle and
riding off. "So long," he called.
"So long, an' plug blazes out of them," shouted Wallace as the dust
swept over him.
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