It
was pretty tough to have recovered the stolen horses single-handed, and
then to take a licking for it.
Little Jim gazed hopefully at his father.
"Why, I was chousin' around up there," he explained, "and I seen dad's
hosses, and--and I started 'em down the trail and the whole blame bunch
followed 'em. They was travelin' so fast I couldn't cut 'em out, so I
just let 'em drift. Filaree and Josh just nacherally headed for the
corral and the rest followed 'em in."
Uncle Frank gazed sternly at Jimmy. "Who told you to help your father
get his horses?"
"Nobody."
"Did your Aunt Jane tell you you could go over to the mountain?"
"I never asked her."
"You trot right into the house and stay there," said Uncle Frank.
Little Jim cast an appealing glance at Cheyenne and walked slowly toward
the house, incidentally and unconsciously rubbing his hand across his
jeans with a sort of anticipatory movement. He bit his lip, and the
tears started to his eyes. But he shook them away, wondering what he
might do to avert the coming storm. Perhaps his father would interpose
between him and the dreaded harness strap.
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