They lifted the runaways into their saddles.

Purvis started off at a gallop, shouting "Come on, Bart," but they stopped him.
"Don't be in a hurry, young feller," said one of the Indians, and then there was another roar of laughter.
"Go back to yer work now," Curtis shouted, and turning to me added: "You ride along with me and let our feathered friends follow us." So we started up the road on our way back to Cobleskill.

Soon Latour began to complain that he was hot and the feathers pricked him.
"You come alongside me here an' raise up a little an' I'll pick the inside o' yer legs an' pull out yer tail feathers," said Curtis.

"If you got 'em stuck into yer skin you'd be a reg'lar chicken an' no mistake." I helped in the process and got my fingers badly tarred.
"This is a dangerous man to touch--his soul is tarred," said Curtis.
"Keep away from him." "What a lookin' skunk you be!" he laughed as he went on with the picking.
We resumed our journey.

Our guide left us at the town line some three miles beyond.
"Thank God the danger is over," said Purvis.