The big fellow seemed to be trying to shoot his own
horse."
"Oh, he's a knife and sack man and clumsy with the gun."
They moved slowly forward now and Armitage sent his horse across the
rough ditch at the roadside to get his bearings. The fog seemed at the
point of breaking, and the mass about them shifted and drifted in the
growing light.
"This is my land, sure enough. Lord, man, I wish you'd get out of this
and go home. You see they're an ugly lot and don't use toy pistols."
"Remember the potato sack! That's my watchword," laughed Claiborne.
They rode with their eyes straight ahead, peering through the breaking,
floating mist. It was now so clear and light that they could see the wood
at either hand, though fifty yards ahead in every direction the fog still
lay like a barricade.
"I should value a change of raiment," observed Armitage. "There was an
advantage in armor--your duds might get rusty on a damp excursion, but
your shirt wouldn't stick to your hide."
"Who cares? Those devils are pretty quiet, and the little sergeant is
about due to bump into them again.
Pages:
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325