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CHAPTER V
AN APPOINTMENT ON THE TRAIL
"Something's up," whispered Joe, as if this fact was not perfectly obvious.
"Hush," warned Nat, "that fellow who just came down the trail is the chap we noticed at supper."
"Alkali Ike?"
"Yes. That's what you called him."
"He must have a date here."
"Looks that way. If I don't miss my guess he's here to meet whoever is coming on horseback down that trail."
"Are you going to stay right here?"
"We might as well. I've got an idea somehow that these chaps are up to some mischief. It doesn't look just right for them to be meeting way off here."
"That's right," agreed Joe, "but supposing they are desperate characters. They may make trouble for us."
"I guess not," rejoined Nat, "we're well hidden in the shadow here. There's not a chance of their seeing us."
"Well I hope not."
But the arrival of the horsemen on the trail put a stop to further conversation right then. There were two of them, both, so far as the boys could see, big, heavy men, mounted on active little ponies. Their long tapaderos, or leather stirrup coverings, almost touched the ground as they rode.
"Hello, Al," exclaimed one of them, as the black mustached man came forward to meet them.
"Hello, boys," was the rejoinder in an easy tone as if the speaker had no fear of being overheard, "well, you pulled it off I see."
"Yes, and we'd have got more than the express box too if it hadn't been for the allfiredest noise you ever heard at the top of the trail all of a sudden. It came just as we was about ter go through ther pockets of the passengers. Sounded like a boiler factory or suthin'. I tell you we lit out in a hurry."
The speaker was one of the pony riders. As he spoke Nat gave Joe a nudge and the other replied with a look of understanding. The men who stood talking not a score of paces from them had taken part in the stage-robbery.
The man on foot seemed immensely amused at the mention of the "terrible noise" his companions said they had been alarmed by.
"Why, that was an automobubble," he laughed.
"A bubble!" exclaimed one of the others, "what in the name of the snow-covered e-tarnal hills is one of them coal oil buckboards doin' in this neck of ther woods?"
"Why, three kids are running it on a pleasure trip. The Motor Rangers, or some such fool name, they call theirselves. They hitched the bubble on ter ther stage and towed her inter town as nice as you please."
"Did you say they called theirselves the Motor Rangers?" asked the other mounted man who up to this time had not spoken.
"That's right, why?"
"One of 'em a fat, foolish lookin' kid what can't talk straight?" asked the other instead of replying.
Nat nudged Ding-dong and chuckled, in imminent danger of exposing their hiding place. It tickled him immensely to hear that youth described in such an unflattering manner.
"Why yep. There is a sort of chumpish kid with 'em. For the matter of that all three of 'em are stuck up, psalm singin' sort of kids. Don't drink nor smoke nor nuthin'."
"True for you. We're not so foolish," breathed Nat to Joe.
"Why are you so anxious about 'em, Dayton?" asked the other rider who had remained silent while his comrade was making the recorded inquiries.
"Cos I know 'em and I've got some old scores to even up with them," was the rejoinder. "Do you remember what I told you about some kids fooling us all down in Lower California?"
"Yep. What of it?"
"Well, this is the same bunch. I'm sure of it."
"The dickens you say. Do they travel with much money about them?"
It was the black-mustached man who was interested now.
"I don't know about that. But their bubble is worth about $5,000 and one of them has a gold mine in Lower Cal. Then, too, they always carry a fine stock of rifles and other truck."
"They'd be worth plucking then?"
"I guess so. At any rate I'd like to get even with them even if we didn't get a thing out of it. Ed. Dayton doesn't forgive or forget in a hurry."
Small wonder that the boys leaned forward with their ears fairly aching to catch every word. Nat knew now why the outline of one of the riders had seemed familiar to him. The man was evidently none other than Ed. Dayton, the rascal who had acted as the millionaire Hale Bradford's lieutenant in Lower California.
Nat, it will be recalled, was captured on the peninsula and an attempt made to force him to give up papers showing his right to the mine, which the gang Hale Bradford had gathered about him was working. I can tell you, Nat was mighty glad that he and his companions happened to be there in the shadow; for, thought he to himself: —
"Forewarned is forearmed, Mr. Ed. Dayton."
But the men were resuming their talk.
"Tell you what you fellows do," said the black-mustached man. "Just lie off here in the brush for an hour or so and I'll go back to the hotel and look around. Then I'll come back and tell you if the coast's clear. They've got their auto out in some sort of a shed and if we could run it we could swipe the whole thing. Can you run an auto, Ed.? Seems to me I've heard you talk about them."
"Can a dog bark?" inquired the other, who if the memory of my readers goes back that far, they will recall had at one time been a chauffeur for Mr. Pomery.
"Very well then, that's settled. At all events it might be a good thing to smash up the car if we can't do anything else with it."
"That's right Al.," agreed Ed. Dayton's companion, "we don't want any nosy kids around in the mountains. They might discover too much."
"That's so, too. Well, you leave it to me, Al. Jeffries, and I'll bet you that after to-night they'll all be glad to go home to their mammies."
But right here something happened which might, but for good fortune, have caused a different ending to this story.
Ding-dong Bell, among other peculiarities, possessed a pair of very delicate nostrils, and the slightest irritation thereof caused him to sneeze violently. Now at the time of the year of which we are writing the California mountains are covered with a growth, called in some localities tar weed. This plant gives off an irritating dust when it is shaken or otherwise disturbed, and the hoofs of the two riders' ponies had kicked up a lot of this pungent powder. Just as the rascals concluded their plans a vagrant puff of wind carried some of it in Ding-dong's direction.
Realizing what serious consequences it might have, the lad struggled with all his might against his immediate inclination to sneeze, but try as he would he could not keep the ultimate explosion back.
"A-ch-oo-oo-oo-oo!"
It sounded as loud as the report of a cannon, in the silent canyon, and quite as startling.
"What in thunder was that?" exclaimed Ed. Dayton wheeling his pony round.
He, of course, saw nothing, and regarded his companions in a puzzled way.
Al. Jeffries was tugging his black mustache and looking about him likewise for some explanation. But he could not find it. In the meantime, the boys, in an agony of apprehension, scarcely dared to breathe. They crouched like rabbits behind their shelter awaiting what seemed inevitable discovery.
"Must have been a bird," grunted Ed. Dayton's companion.
"Funny sort of bird," was the rejoinder.
"That's right. I am a funny sort of bird," thought Ding-dong with an inward chuckle.
"Sounded to me more like somebody sneezin'," commented Ed. Dayton who was still suspicious.
"It'll be a bad day for them if there was," supplemented Al. Jeffries grimly.
"Tell you what we do, boys," came a sudden suggestion from Ed.'s companion, which sent a chill to the hearts of the boys; "let's scatter about here and look around a bit."
"That's a good idea," was the alarming rejoinder.
Nat was just revolving in his mind whether it would be the better expedient to run, and trust to hiding in the rocks and chaparral, or to leap up and try to scare the others' ponies, and then escape. But just then Al. Jeffries spoke:
"No use wastin' time on that now, boys," he said, "it's gettin' late. You do as I say, and then in a while we'll all take a little spin in that grown up taxi cab of the Motor Rangers."
To the intense relief of the boys the others agreed. Soon after this the trio of rascals separated. Ed. Dayton and his companions rode back up the trail while Al. Jeffries started off for the hotel.
As soon as their footsteps grew faint Nat galvanized into action.
"We've got a lot to do in a very short time," he announced excitedly. "Come on, Joe! Shake a foot! We've got to beat Mr. Al. back to the hotel."
"How?" inquired Joe amazedly, but not doubting in his own mind that Nat had already thought the matter out thoroughly.
"We'll skirt along the mountain-side above him. If we are careful he won't hear us."
"That is, if Ding-dong can muffle that nasal gatling gun of his," grunted Joe. "Say, young fellow, the next time you want to sneeze when we're in such a tight place, just oblige us by rolling over the edge of the canyon, will you?"
"I c-c-c-o-o-ouldn't help it," sputtered Ding-dong sorrowfully.
"Couldn't," exclaimed the indignant Joe, "you didn't even try."
"I did too. But I couldn't remember whether the book said that you could stop sneezing by pulling the lobe of your ear or rubbing the bridge of your nose."
"So you did both?"
"Y-y-y-yes; why?"
"Well, they were both wrong. You should have wiggled your right big toe while you balanced a blade of grass on your chin."
CHAPTER VI
SOME RASCALS GET A SCARE
Everybody in the hotel at Lariat had long retired to bed, when three youthful forms stole toward the stable which had been turned into a temporary garage for the Motor Rangers' big car. From their bed-room window, the boys had, a few moments before, watched Al. Jeffries stride off down the trail to meet his cronies for the second time and inform them that the time was ripe to put up their attempted trick on the lads.
The doughty Al., on his return to the hotel after the conference at which the lads were eavesdroppers, had found nothing to excite his suspicion. The boys were all seated on the porch and apparently had not moved since he had last seen them. Al. had even sat around with them a while, trying to pump them, but of course, after what they knew of him, they did not give him much information. Nat had formed an idea that the man was a sort of agent for the gang of the famous Morello. That is, he hung about towns and picked up any information he could about shipments of specie from the mines, or of wealthy travellers who might be going through. In this surmise we may say that Nat was correct.
But to return to the three lads whom we left at the beginning of the chapter stealthily slipping across the moonlit space between the hotel and the stable. All three had changed their boots for soft moccasins, in which they made next to no noise at all as they moved. Each lad, moreover, carried under his arm a small bundle. Their clothing consisted of trousers and shirts. Their broad-brimmed sombreros had been doffed with their coats. The Motor Rangers were, so to speak, stripped for action. And it was to be action of a lively kind as the event was to show.
On their arrival at the stable the boys slipped into an empty stall alongside their car, and undoing their bundles, hastily donned what was in them. Then Nat uncorked a bottle, while a strong odor filled the air. It was a pungent sort of reek, and from the bottle could be seen a faint greenish light glowing.
Their preparations completed, the Motor Rangers crouched behind the wooden wall of the stall, awaiting the next move on the program.
"And for heaven's sake sit on that sneeze!" Joe admonished Ding-dong.
Before very long the boys could hear cautious footsteps approaching the barn, and the sound of low whispering.
"The auto's right in here," they caught, in Jeffries' voice. "Say, what a laugh we'll have on those kids in the morning."
"They laugh best who laugh last," thought Nat to himself, clutching more tightly a small gleaming thing he had in his hand.
"This is pie to me," they could hear Dayton whispering, in a cautious undertone, "I told those kids I'd get even on them for driving me out of Lower California, and here's where I do it."
Nat gritted his teeth as he listened.
"You're going to get something that you don't expect," he muttered softly to himself.
The next instant the barn door framed three figures. Behind them were two ponies. The feet of the little animals were swathed in sacks so that they made no noise at all.
"Pretty foxy," whispered Joe, "they've padded the ponies' hoofs."
"Hush!" ordered Nat, "don't say a word or make a move till I give the signal."
"There's the car," whispered Jeffries, as they drew closer and the shadow of the place enclosed them, blotting out their outlines.
"Seems a shame to run it over a cliff, don't it?" put in Dayton's fellow pony rider.
"That's the only thing to do with it," said Dayton abruptly, "I want to give those kids a lesson they won't forget."
"So, you rascals," thought Nat, "you were going to run the car over a cliff were you? Oh, how I'd like to get my hands on you for just five minutes."
"Go on, Dayton. Climb into the thing and start her up," said Jeffries.
"Hope them kids don't wake up," put in Dayton's companion.
"They're off as sound as tops," Al. assured him, "I listened at their door after I came out, and they were snoring away like so many buck saws."
With the ease born of familiarity with motor vehicles, Dayton climbed into the driver's seat and bent over the steering wheel.
Presently there came a sharp click!
"Now!" whispered Nat.
As he gave the word, from behind the wooden partition upreared three terrifying objects. Their faces glared greenly and their white forms seemed to be shrouded in graveyard clothes.
In unison they uttered a dismal cry.
"Be-ware! Oh be-ware of the car of the Motor Ranger boys!"
"Wow!" yelled Dayton's companion.
As he gave the alarmed cry he fairly reeled back against the opposite stall and fell with a crash. At the same instant, an old claybank mule tethered in there awoke, and resenting the man's sudden intrusion, let fly with his hind hoofs. This shot the ruffian's form full tilt into that of Al. Jeffries, who was making at top speed for the door, and the two fell, in a rolling, cursing, struggling, clawing heap on the stable floor.
"Lemme up!" yelled Al. Jeffries, in mortal terror of the grim sheeted forms behind him.
"Lemme go!" shouted Dayton's companion, roaring half in fear and half in pain at the reminiscences of the mule's hoofs he carried.
But the startling apparitions, while at their first appearance they had made Dayton recoil, only fooled him for an instant. Springing erect from his first shock of amazement and alarm he gave an angry shout.
"Get up there you fools."
"Oh the ghosts! The ghosts with the green faces," bawled Al. Jeffries.
"Ghosts!" roared Dayton angrily, "they're no ghosts. Get up and knock their heads off."
Suiting the action to the word he leaped from the car and charged furiously at Nat. The boy's fist shot out and landed with a crash on the point of his jaw, but although Dayton reeled under the force of the blow he recovered instantly and charged furiously again on the sheeted form.
In the meantime, Al. Jeffries and the other man had rolled apart and perceived the state of affairs. The noise of the impact of Nat's fist showed conclusively that it was no ghostly hand that had struck the blow, and the fact rallied their fleeting courage. As furiously as had Dayton, they charged upon the boys. The rip and tear of sheets, and the sound of blows given and received, mingled with the angry exclamations of the men and the quick, panting breath of the boys.
Suddenly, Nat levelled the little bright glinting thing he had clutched in his hand as they crouched behind the wooden partition. He pressed a trigger on its underside and a hissing sound followed.
"Sfiz-z-z-z-z-z!"
At the same instant the air became surcharged with a pungent odor. It seemed to fill the atmosphere and made nostrils and eyes smart.
"Ammonia!" shouted Al. Jeffries, staggering backward and dabbing desperately at his face where the full force of Nat's charge had expended itself. As upon the other occasion, when the ammonia pistols had been used, the rout of the enemy was complete. With muffled imprecations and exclamations of pain, the three reeled, half blinded, out of the barn.
At the same instant the boys heard windows thrown up and the sharp report of a revolver.
"Fire! Thieves! Murder!" came from one window, in the landlord's voice, following the discharge of the pistol.
"Get to the ponies," roared Dayton, "we'll have the whole hornets' nest about our ears in a minute."
The others needed no urging. Grabbing Al. Jeffries by the arm, Dayton's companion, who was only partially blinded, made for his little steed. But Dayton, who had hardly received any of the aromatic discharge, suddenly whipped about and snatched a revolver from his side. Before the boys could dodge the man fired at them.
Nat felt the bullets fan the air by his ear, but fortunately, the man fired so quickly and the excitement and confusion was such, that in the moonlight he missed his aim.
"I'll make you smart for this some day!" he yelled, as fearful of lingering any longer he swung himself into his saddle. He drove home the spurs and with a squeal and a bound the little animal carried him out of the region of the hotel.
As for Dayton's companion he was already a good distance off with Al. Jeffries clinging behind him on his saddle.
Joe had made for the auto and seized a rifle from the rack in the tonneau as Dayton galloped off, but Nat sharply told him to put it down.
"We have scared the rascals off, and that's enough," he said.
In a few minutes the Motor Rangers were surrounded by everybody in the hotel, including Cal and the postmaster. They were warmly congratulated on their success by all hands, and much laughter greeted their account of the amusing panic into which the rascals had been thrown by the sudden appearance of the glowing-faced ghosts, followed by the discharge of the "mule battery."
"How did yer git the green glowing paint?" asked Cal interestedly.
"Why, we took the liberty of soaking two or three bundles of California matches in the tooth glass," explained Nat, "and then we had a fine article of phosphorus paint."
"Wall if you ain't the beatingest," was the landlord's admiring contribution.
In the midst of the explanations, congratulations and angry denunciation of Al. Jeffries and his companions, a sudden piping voice was heard.
"Yust von moment blease. Vait! Nod a mofe! – Ah goot, I haf you!"
It was the little German, whom, the boys had discovered, was named Hans Von Schiller Muller. He had sprung out of bed in the midst of the excitement and instantly decided it would make a good subject for his camera. He presented a queer figure as he stood there, in pajamas several sizes too small for him and striped with vivid pink and green. The shrinkage had been the work of a Chinese laundryman in the San Joaquin Valley.
"Say," exclaimed Joe, "you don't expect to get a picture out of that do you?"
"Chess. Sure. Vy nodt?"
"Well, because in the first place you had no light," said Joe.
"Ach! Donnerblitzen, miserable vot I am. I shouldn't have got id a flash-light, aind't it. Hold on! Vait a minute. I get him."
"Better defer it till to-morrow," said Nat, who like the rest, was beginning to shiver in the keen air of the mountains, "it's too cold to wait for all your preparations."
And so, when Herr Muller returned to the fatherland there was one picture he did not have, and that was a portrait of the Motor Rangers as they appeared immediately after routing three notorious members of Col. Morello's band of outlaws.
CHAPTER VII
A PHOTOGRAPHER IN TROUBLE
The boys were not up as early the next morning as they had anticipated. In the first place, it was somewhat dull and overcast, and in the second they were naturally tired after their exciting adventures of the preceding day and night. The first person to hail them as they left the dining room where they had partaken of a hearty breakfast was Cal Gifford. The stage driver drew them aside and informed them in an irate voice that on account of the stage having been held up the day before, he had been notified by telegraph early that morning that his services would be no longer required by the Lariat Stage Company.
"What are you going to do?" asked Nat, after he had extended his sympathies to the indignant Cal.
"Wall, I've got a little mine up north of here that I think I'll go and take a look at," said Cal.
"How far north?" asked Nat interestedly.
"Oh, 'bout two hundred miles. I'm all packed ready ter go, but I cain't git a horse."
He indicated a battered roll of blankets and a canteen lying on the porch. Surmounting this pile of his possessions was an old rifle – that is, in pattern and design, but its woodwork gleamed, its barrel was scrupulously polished, and its mechanism well oiled. Like most good woodsmen and mountaineers, Cal kept good care of his weapons, knowing that sometimes a man's life may depend on his rifle or revolver.
"Can't get a horse?" echoed Nat. "Why, I should think there would be no trouble about that."
"Wall, thar wouldn't hev bin, but thet little Dutchman bought a nag this mornin' and started off ter take picters on his lonesome."
"I guess you mean he hired one, don't you?" asked Joe.
"No siree. That Teutonic sport paid hard cash fer ther plug. He tole the landlord that he means ter make a trip all through the Sierras hereabout, making a fine collection of pictures."
"He must be crazy, starting off alone in an unknown country," exclaimed Nat.
"Thet's jes' what they all tole him, but there ain't no use arguin' with er mule or a Dutchman when their mind's set. He started off about an hour ago with a roll of blankets, a frying pan and his picture box."
"He stands a chance of getting captured by Col. Morello's band," exclaimed Joe.
"It's likely," agreed Cal, "but what I was a goin' ter tell yer wuz that ther plug he bought was ther last one they had here. An' so now I'm stuck I guess, till they git some more up from ther valley."
"Tell you what you do," said Nat after a brief consultation with his chums, "why not take a ride with us as far as your way lies, and then proceed any way you like?"
"What, ride with you kids in thet gasolene tug boat?"
"Yes, we'd be glad to have you. You know the roads and the people up through here, and could help us a whole lot."
"Say, that's mighty white of yer," said Cal, a broad smile spreading over his face, "if I wouldn't be in ther way now – "
"We'll be very glad to have you," Nat assured him, while Joe and Ding-dong nodded their heads in affirmation, "are you ready to start?"
Cal nodded sidewise at his pile of baggage.
"Thar's my outfit," he said.
"All right. Then I'll pay our bill and we'll start right away."
And so it was arranged. Ten minutes later the Motor Rangers in their big touring car rolled majestically out of the town of Lariat, while Cal in the tonneau waved his sombrero to admiring friends.
"This is ther first time I ever rode a benzine broncho," he declared as the car gathered way and was soon lost to the view of the citizens of Lariat in a cloud of dust.
The road lay through the same canyon in which they had so fortunately overheard the conversation of Al. Jeffries and his cronies the night before. It was a sparkling morning, with every object standing out clear and intense in the brilliant light of the high Sierras. A crisp chill lay in the air which made the blood tingle and the eyes shine. As they rolled on with the engine singing its cheering song Cal, too, burst into music:
"Riding along on my gasolene bronc;
Instead of a whinny it goes 'Honk! Honk!'
If we don't bust up we'll be in luck,
You'd be blowed sky-high by a benzine buck!"
About noon they emerged from the narrow canyon into a wide valley, the broad, level floor of which was covered with green bunch grass. Through its centre flowed a clear stream, fed by the snow summits they could see in the distance. Cattle could be seen feeding at the far end of it and it was evidently used as a pasture by some mountain rancher. As they drew closer to a clump of large redwood trees at one end of the valley Nat gave a sudden exclamation of surprise, and stood up in the tonneau. Joe, who was at the wheel, sighted the scene which had attracted the others' attention at the same instant.
A group of cattlemen could be seen under one of the larger trees, with a figure in their midst. They were clustered about the central object, and appeared to be handling him pretty roughly.
Nat snatched up the glasses from their pocket in the tonneau and levelled them on the scene. He put them down again with an exclamation of excitement.
"They're going to lynch that fellow," he announced.
"What!" roared Cal, "lend me them peep glass things, young chap."
Joe stopped the car, while Cal took a long look. He confirmed Nat's opinion.
"They've got the rope over a limb of that tree already," he said.
"How are we to help him?" cried Nat, whose first and natural thought had been to go to the unfortunate's assistance.
"What do you want ter help him fer," grunted Cal, "like as not he's some sort of a horse thief or suthin'. You bet those fellers wouldn't be going ter string him up onless he had bin doin' suthin' he hadn't orter."
Nat was not so sure about this. From what he knew of the West its impulsive citizens occasionally executed a man first and inquired into the justice of it afterward.
"Steer for those trees, Joe," he ordered sharply.
Joe, without a word, obeyed, while Cal shrugged his shoulders.
"May be runnin' inter trouble," he grunted.
"If you're scared you can get out," said Nat more sharply than was his wont.
Cal looked angry for a moment, but then his expression changed.
"Yer all right, boy," he said heartily, "and if ther's trouble I'm with you every time."
"Thanks," rejoined Nat simply, "that's the opinion I'd formed of you, Cal."
The car had now left the road and was rolling over the pasture which was by no means as smooth as it had appeared from the mountain road. However, they made good progress and as their shouts and cries had attracted the attention of the group of punchers under the trees, they at least had achieved the delay of the execution. They could now see every detail of the scene, without the aid of the field glasses. But the visage of the intended victim was hidden from them by the circle of wild-looking figures about him. As the Motor Rangers drew closer a big, raw-boned cattle puncher, with a pair of hairy "chaps" on his legs and an immense revolver in his hand, rode toward them. As his figure separated itself from the group Cal gave a low growl.
"Here comes trouble," he grumbled, closing his hand over the well-worn butt of his pistol.
"Howdy, strangers," drawled the newcomer, as he drew within earshot.
"Howdy," nodded the boys, not however, checking the auto.
"Hold on thar," cried the cowpuncher raising a big, gauntleted hand, "don't come no further, strangers. Thar's ther road back yonder."
He backed up his hint by exhibiting his revolver rather ostentatiously. But Nat's eyelids never quivered as he looked the other full in the face and asked in a tone that sounded like one of mild, tenderfoot inquiry: —
"What are you doing there, mister – branding calves?"
"No we ain't, young feller," rejoined the cowpuncher, "Now if you're wise you'll take that fer an answer and get out of here pronto – quick – savee!"
"I don't see any reason why we can't drive through here," said Nat, cunningly stringing out the talk so that the car could creep quite close to the group of would-be lynchers.
"You don't see no reason?"
"No."
"Wall, stranger – thar's six reasons here and they all come out at once."
As he spoke the cowpuncher tapped the shiny barrel of his revolver with a meaning gesture. Nat saw that he could not go much further with safety.
"Now you git!" snarled the cowboy. "You've had fair warning. Vamoose!"
As he spoke the group about the tree parted for a minute as the cowpunchers composing it gazed curiously at the auto, which was nearing them. As they separated, the figure of the victim became visible. The boys greeted the sight with a shout of amazement which was echoed by Cal.
"Boys, it's Herr Muller!" shouted Nat.
"Wall ther blamed Dutchman!" gasped Cal, "has he bin stealin' horses?"
"Yep," rejoined the puncher briefly, "he hev. An' we're goin' ter string him up. Now you git out."
"All right," spoke Nat suddenly, with a flashing light of excitement blazing in his eyes.
"We'll get, but it will be – THIS WAY!"
As he spoke he leaped into the driver's seat, pushing Joe to one side.
The next instant the car was leaping forward with a roar and a bound, headed full at the band of amazed and thunderstruck cowpunchers.
