There was an interval of silence and then a voice from the darkness: "Show a laig, there: who is it?"
"Show you a boot, you locoed bummer! It’s Cassidy." He mounted resignedly and waited for the other to ride up. "Could n’t ’a’ caught him, nohow," he reflected. "Never see such a horse in my life, never. Hope to th’ Lord it don’t rain. Be just like it."
The unknown rode up full of apologies. Hopalong cut him short. "What d’ they call you?" he asked, curtly.
Hoppy grunted. "Well, you camp down right here," he ordered, "an’ don’t let nobody blot that sign. I ’m a-goin’ to be here at daylight an’ foller that screech-owl th’ limit. Good-night."
He headed for the ranch house, satisfied that his section of range would remain undisturbed during the next few hours, at the least.
"Sweet birds-o’-paradise! Would you—would you oblige me by squintin’ at that!"
Straight north, from the few dead carcasses where the trail started it led to the creek bank, east of the ranch house; and like hounds with nose to scent, Hopalong, Buck, and Ned had followed it from the point where Slow Jack had been found doing sentry-go and sent, in profane relief, to breakfast and sleep. Hoppy was in the lead and as he came to the creek he raised his eyes to look across at the other bank for signs of the quarry’s exit from the water. It was the sign on the north bank, coupled with that on the somewhat higher bank where they stood, that had made him exclaim.
Ned Monroe’s face cleared of the frowning perplexity that had darkened it at first sight of the hoof prints they tracked. "Must be a stranger," he affirmed. "Dunno th’ country or he ’d never jump when he could ride through."
"Jump!" exclaimed Buck, startled. "Why, of course," he conceded. "Hoppy, that’s shore one scrumptious jump"; and the dawning admiration grew to wonder as he mentally measured the distance.
Hoppy nodded his head. "_I_ never see th’ horse could do it right now; an’ that bird flew over there last night. He was right on it afore he knew an’ he did n’t stop to remember how deep it was; he just dug in a spur an’ lifted him at sight of th’ breakin’ bubbles: they ’d show purty nigh white last night—an’ th’ horse, he does n’t know how much he has to jump, so he jumps a good one—a d—n good one, though Ned, here, don’t think it so much. Mebby you know a horse as could do it right easy, eh, Ned?"