ch.

The lights died away; the shouts grew fainter: they swelled again as
the searchers straggled back, vociferous. Pringle caught scraps of
talk as they watered their horses.

"Clean getaway!"

"One bad actor, that _hombre_!"

"Regular Go-Getter!"

"Batting average about thirteen hundred, I should figger."

"Life-size he-man! Where do you suppose----"

"Saw a lad make just such another break once in Van Zandt County----"

"Say! Who're you crowdin'?"

"Hi, fellers! Bill's giving some more history of the state of Van
Zandt!"

"Applegate's pretty bad hurt."

"----in a gopher hole and near broke my fool neck."

"Where'd this old geezer come from, anyway? Never heard of him
before!"

"'Tain't fair, just when we was all crowdin' up for supper! He might
have waited."

"This will be merry hell and repeat if he hooks up with Foy," said
Creagan's voice, adding a vivid description of Pringle.

Old Nueces answered, raising his voice:

"He's afoot. We got to beat him to it. Let's ride!"

"That's right," said the sheriff. "But we'll grab something to
eat first. Saddle up, Hargis, and lead us to your little old cave.
Robbins, while we snatch a bite you bunch what canteens we've got and
fill 'em up. Then you watch the old man and that girl, and let Breslin
come with us. You can eat after we've gone."

"Don't let the girl heave a pillow at you, Robbins!" warned a voice.

"Better not stop to eat," urged Nueces.

"We can lope up and get to the foot of Thumb Butte before Pringle gets
halfway--if he's going there at all. Most likely he's had a hand in
the Marr killing and is just running away to save his own precious
neck," said the sheriff. "We'll scatter out around the hill when we
get to the roughs, and go up afoot till every man can see or hear
his neighbor, so Pringle can't get through. Then we'll wait till
daylight."

"That may suit you," retorted Nueces. "Me, I don't intend for any
man that will buck a gun with a lamp to throw in with Kit Foy while I
stuff my paunch. That sort is just the build to do a mile in nothing
flat--and it's only three miles to the hill. I'm goin' now, and
I'm goin' hellity-larrup! Come on, anybody with more brains than
belly--I'm off to light a line of soap weeds on that hill so this Mr.
Pringle-With-the-Punch don't walk himself by. If he wants up he'll
have to hoof it around the other side of the hill. We won't make
any light on the north side. That Bar Cross outfit is too damn