Johnson, as he mechanically drew the chips toward
him, broke the silence.

"Zeke got you all worked up, didn't he?" he declared,
turning his eyes upon Glover. "As for
renegades," he went on, beginning to deal the
cards again, "I've knowed 'em -- hull droves of
'em -- to stampede on the whistle of a rattler."
Evidently he was returning to good humor.

Glover took his pipe from his mouth. "Renegades
gits stirred up every jest so often," he observed.
"I s'pose it's because of the way they
feel about things. Being run offen the reservations
thataway ain't nowise pleasant, to begin
with, and then havin' to hang around the aidges
for what grub their folks sees fit for to sneak out
to 'em ought to make it jest that much more
monotonous -- kind of. Reckon I'd break out
myself -- like a man that eats pancakes a lot -- under
sich circumstances. Zeke says this band -- the
latest gang to git sore -- is a-headin' dead south.
Talks like we might run agin trouble down there.
More'n one brand, too -- the police and the reg'-lars
all bein' out thataway. They're all out -- Zeke
says."

The others were absorbed in play, and so made
no retort. Whereat Glover, with a reflective light
in his eyes, continued:

"I've seen something myself," he went on,
evidently mindful of Johnson's observation.
"I've seen better men than Injuns stampede on
less than rattlesnakes -- and cover a heap more
ground in a lot less shorter time. What I'm talk-

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v?