"Wal, I reckon; three of them rustlers won't rustle again very soon, onless that bus'ness is carried on below, where they've gone; two others have got holes through their bodies about the size of my hat."
"Well, Duke, what is it?" asked the footman, as though he were asking an ordinary question of a friend.
On the outer margin of the field of vision the outlines of several horsemen assumed shape. They were approaching, and one of their steeds emitted a whinny, as a salutation to the motionless Queenie, who had shifted her pose so as to face that point of the compass.
"Fred, move a little to the leftâ€”that will do. I've got a bead on him now."