The lover glanced about to make sure they were alone. "Well, ye see,

Pete, maybe I 'm partly to blame. I 've sorter been entertainin' her

nights with some stories regardin' road-agents an' things o' thet sort,

while, so fur as I kin larn, thet blame chump of a McNeil hes been

fillin' her up scandalous with Injuns, until she 's plum got 'em on the

brain. Ye know a feller jist hes ter gas along 'bout somethin' like

thet, fer it's no fool job ter entertain a female thet's es frisky es a

young colt. And now, I reckon as how it's got ter be Injuns."

"Whut's got ter be Injuns?"

"Why thet outfit whut runs off with her, of course. I reckon you

fellers will stand in all right ter help pull me out o' this hole?"

Long Pete nodded.

"Well, Pete, this is 'bout whut's got ter be done, es near es I kin

figger it out. You pick out maybe half a dozen good fellers, who kin

keep their mouths shet, an' make Injuns out of 'em. 'Tain't likely she

'll ever twig any of the boys fixed up proper in thet sorter

outfit--anyhow, she'd be too durned skeered. Then you lay fer her, say

'bout next Wednesday, out in them Carter woods, when she 's comin' home

from school. I 'll kinder naturally happen 'long by accident 'bout the

head o' the gulch, an' jump in an' rescue her. Sabe?"

Lumley gazed at his companion with eyes expressive of admiration. "By

thunder, if you haven't got a cocoanut on ye, Jack! Lord, but thet

ought to get her a flyin'! Any shootin'?"

"Sure!" Moffat's face exhibited a faint smile at these words of

praise. "It wouldn't be no great shucks of a rescue without, an' this

hes got ter be the real thing. Only, I reckon, ye better shoot high,

so thar' won't be no hurt done."

When the two gentlemen parted, a few moments later, the conspiracy was

fully hatched, all preliminaries perfected, and the gallant rescue of

Miss Spencer assured. Indeed, there is some reason now to believe that

this desirable result was rendered doubly certain, for as Moffat moved

slowly past the Occidental on his way home, a person attired in chaps

and sombrero, and greatly resembling McNeil, was in the back room,

breathing some final instructions to a few bosom friends.

"Now don't--eh--any o' you fellers--eh--go an' forget the place. Jump

in--eh--lively. Just afore she--eh--gits ter thet thick

bunch--eh--underbrush, whar' the trail sorter--eh--drops down inter the

ravine. An' you chumps wanter--eh--git--yerselves up so she can't pipe

any of ye off--eh--in this yere--eh--road-agent act. I tell ye, after

what thet--eh--Moffat's bin a-pumpin' inter her, she's just got ter

be--eh--rescued, an' in blame good style, er--eh--it ain't no go."




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