Page:The Boy Land Boomer.djvu/56

48 United States troops were watching the would-be Oklahoma settlers in Arkansas and Texas.

There was every prospect of a lively time ahead, and it was not far off.

Reaching his station, Tucker drew from his pocket a briar-root pipe, filled and lit it and began to puff away meditatively.

His face had been ugly before, but now as he began to meditate it grew blacker than ever.

"Hang me, if everything ain't going wrong," he muttered. "I won't stand it. I'll make a kick, and when I do" He paused as a shadow among the trees caught his eye. "Who goes there?" he called out and drew his pistol.

"A friend. Tucker, is that you?"

"Vorlange!" cried the cavalryman, and the next moment the newcomer and the military man were face to face.

"It's about time you showed up," growled Tucker, after a brief pause, during which the newcomer looked at him anxiously. "Say, Vorlange, when do you intend to settle up with me. Give it to me straight, now."

"That's why I left the trail to hunt you up, Tucker—I knew you were anxious about that five hundred dollars."

"Why shouldn't I be? It took me a long time to