Once he half rose, every movement
showing his reluctance.
Whereupon Weary, who sprawled next to him, reached out a languid foot and gave
him a poke. "Aw, lay down," he advised. "They're all right out there for
another hour. Don't yuh hear the bell?"
They all listened for a minute. The intermittent tinkle of the cheap little
sheep bell came plainly to them from farther down the draw as though Johnny
was eating contentedly with his mates, thankful for the leisure and the short,
sweet grass that was better than hay. Pink lay back with a sigh of relief, and
Luck told him to sleep a little if he wanted to, because everything was all
right and he would call him if the horses got to straying too far off.
Down the draw--where there were no horses feeding--an Indian in dirty overalls
and gingham shirt and moccasins, and with his hair bobbed to his collar, stood
up and peered toward the vague figures grouped in the fire-glow. He lifted his
hand and moved it slightly, so that the bell he was holding tinkled exactly as
it had done when it was strapped around Johnny's neck; Johnny, who was at that
moment trailing disgustedly over a ridge half a mile away with his mates,
driven by two horsemen who rode very carefully, so as to make no noise.
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