most
plenteous because he wasn't there to cook hot biscuits.

After breakfast they wasted an hour dressing his paw for old Whiskers,
and wondering whether they'd waste one of my cartridges on me, or keep
them all for my friends. On that I divulged a lot of etiquette out of my
book. I told these misbegotten offspring they'd been brung up all wrong,
or they'd have enough deportment to make tracks. "Now," says I, "in the
land of the free and the home of the brave you been appreciated, whereas
if you linger here till sunup you'll be shot."

That made poor Whiskers still more suspicious, wondering what sort of
bear traps guileful Smith was projecting. "Wants to get us up on the
bench," says he, "that means ware traps. We'll stay right here, boys,
for daylight, when we'll be able to see ourselves, how to save them
cattle."

"We'd better kill the prisoner," Bull argues, and this reminds me of his
ancient friendship.

"Shut your fool head," says Whiskers. "His friends would rather us go
free than see him killed before their eyes. You've no more brains than
a poached owl."

"You're dead right, Whiskers!" says I. "Hair on you!"

But he being fretful with his wound, orders his men to disable Brown's
fiddle, and lash me up with catgut. Moreover, when I was trussed, this
Bull seen fit to kick me on the off chance, a part which ain't referred
to in polite society, especially with a boot.

"Brave man!" says I, and the rest of them robbers was so shamed they got
me a gag.

"Sorry," says I, "pity I won't be able to guide you to Brown's cigars.
He keeps a bottle, too."

"Where are they?" says Bull.

"Gag Brooke," said I, for Bull went by that name, "and I'll divulge the
drinks."

"Gag Brooke," says Whiskers, cheering up a little, "pity he weren't born
gagged."

So they gagged Mr. Brooke, and mounted him on sentry while they had
Brown's bottle of whisky and cigars. I got some, too.

Of course these or'nary, no-account, range wolves reckoned my friends
would wait for day before they attempted tracking. Whereas Dale got the
lantern, found my paper trail, and guessed at the ferry. Before we
entered the cabin, I'd seen the glint of that lantern behind the rim of
the bench, and I knew our boys trusted me to keep the robbers somehow
down at the ferry-house. Ginger and the greaser lay down for an hour's
sleep, Mr. Brooke, gagged and not at all pleased, kep' guard at the
door, Whiskers, since the liquor made his wound worse, lu