Buck looked around and cleared his throat: "We've got th' cows on
th' home trail, Frenchy," he suggested.
"Yas?" Inquired Frenchy. "Are there many?"
"Yas," replied Buck, waving his hand at the guards, ordering them to
follow their friends. "It's a good deal for us: we've done right smart
this hand. An' it's a good thing we've got so many punchers: we got a
lot of cattle to drive."
"About five times th' size of th' herd that blamed near made angels
out'en me an' yu," responded Frenchy with a smile.
"I hope almighty hard that we don't have no stampedes on this here
drive. If th' last herds go wild they'll pick up th' others, an' then
there'll be th' devil to pay."
Frenchy smiled again and shot a glance at where Mr. Trendley was
bound to the cabin wall.
Buck looked steadily southward for some time and then flecked a
foam-sud from the flank of his horse. "We are goin' south along th'
Creek until we gets to Big Spring, where we'll turn right smart to th'
west. We won't be able to average more'n twelve miles a day, `though
I'm goin' to drive them hard. How's yore grub?"
"Grub to burn."
"Got yore rope?" Asked the foreman of the Bar-20, speaking as if the
question had no especial meaning.
Frenchy smiled: "Yes."
Hopalong absent-mindedly jabbed his spurs into his mount with the
result that when the storm had subsided the spell was broken and he
said "So long," and rode south, followed by Buck and Red.
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