Edna glanced at Mamie, who was sniffing.
"What is it I smell?" she asked.
"Medicine," said Dan. He knew that Pete, the walking dictionary, could
be trusted to break the appalling news to these unhappy girls. He
glanced at Mr. Holloway and nodded.
"Yes," said Pete, "you smell medicine. It was prescribed by the
distinguished surgeon an' pathologist, Perfessor Adam Chawner."
"Prescribed? Why?"
Once, in the dear dead days that were gone, Pete had owned a best
girl, who had treated him ill. Ever since he had exhibited a not too
chivalrous desire to "git even" with the fond but fickle sex. Also he
had no respect for the W.C.T.U.
"The trouble come o' drinkin' too much water."
"Too much water?"
"We three hev bin wallerin' at a pizoned spring. The Perfessor may
pull us through, but it's no cert. Much the contrairy. Likely as not
you'll be attendin' our funerals within' the week. Dan and Jimmie tuk
a notion that they'd like to forgive ye, an' I come along too because
I reckon misery loves company. But I made this stippilation--no
huggin' before me, if you please."
"Is he--d-d-drunk?" faltered Edna.
"I'm nearly drunk," said Pete. "This yere pizon is same as rattlesnake
pizon. We've got to be kep' filled plum up with whisky." He produced
his bottle and placed it carefully upon the floor, then he added:
"When I can't help myself, I count on you, old man"--he looked at
Greiffenhagen--"to pour it down my throat."
"Dan," said Miss Willing, "can't you say something?"
"I'm razzle-dazzled," said Dan. "But I couldn't die without forgivin'
yer."
"Edna," said Jimmie, with a sob in his voice, "I have no hard feelin's
left."
"These three _beasts_," said Mrs. Greiffenhagen, in a hard,
unwavering voice, "are disgracefully and unblushingly intoxicated.
Girls, leave the room!"
The girls looked at each other. Mamie Willing leapt to the situation.
Upon a small marble-topped table reposed an immense family Bible.
Mamie lifted it and approached Pete.
"Swear on this that your terrible story is true."
"I swear," said Pete solemnly, and he kissed the Book. Edna flung
herself into Jimmie's arms; Mamie, after replacing the Bible, knelt
sobbing at Dan's side. Pete said helplessly to old man Greiffenhagen:
"Take me outer this!"
Mrs. Greiffenhagen said in the same hard monotone: "Mr. Greiffenhagen,
either these men leave this house or I do."
The storekeeper led his wife aside and whispered to her. She nodded
none too graciously, and he hurried from the room.
"Wheer's he goin'?" asked Pete.
"He's goin' up ter the ranch-house," said Mrs. Greiffenhagen
spitefully, "ter fetch the Professor."
"Very right an' proper," yawned Pete. "Would it be trespassin' too
much on yer kindness to ask for three glasses? It's time we downed
some more medicine, an' I don't like to drink outer the bottle in this
yere parlour."
Mrs. Greiffenhagen folded her hands. She had been heard to declare in
public that if she were dying, and a thimbleful of whisky would
restore her to health and Mr. Greiffenhagen, she would not swallow it.
The three men took more medicine. Presently Mamie supported Dan to the
sofa; Edna was sitting on the floor with Jimmie's head on her lap.
Mrs. Greiffenhagen glared at Pete, who from time to time kissed his
hand to her. Not till she heard footsteps on the porch outside did the
good lady rise from her chair. She opened the door to admit her
husband. He reeled in.
"You too!" she said in a freezing voice.
Greiffenhagen explained. The boys were really poisoned, and whisky
must be poured down their throats till stronger remedies arrived. The
Professor, Ajax, and Uncle Jake were riding to San Lorenzo upon a
wild-goose chase. He added that the boss was driving down with more
whisky.
Within a few minutes I arrived with the whisky; and Mrs. Greiffenhagen
was constrained to unbend. It was decided to put the men to bed,
pending the arrival of the Professor. Two vaqueros were galloping
after him in the hope of overtaking him before he had gone too far.
Dan was undressed and placed in Miss Willing's muslin-curtained bed;
Jimmie who would not permit his clothes to be removed, was laid upon
the couch of Edna Parkinson. Pete was carried into the Greiffenhagen
bedroom, and deposited, boots and all, upon a spotless white
bedspread.
"Jiminy Christmas," said Greiffenhagen, "ain't it awful!"
At regular intervals the medicine was administered. Finally, what the
Professor had desired came to pass. The three men lay senseless,
breathing stertorously. To achieve this result more than a gallon of
the best whisky had been used! Mamie and Edna began to exhibit
symptoms of hysteria.
"I'll never leave my Dan--never!" declared Mamie, when it was
suggested that she should return to the parlour.
"Jimmie, dear," sobbed Edna, "if you'll promise me not to die, I'll
never speak to Mr. Greenberg again!"
* * * * *
At about six the next morning Pete Holloway woke up. He opened his
eyes, groaned deeply, and closed them again.
"How are you feeling, Pete?" said I.
Pete groaned again, for memory of all that had passed came to him.
With a tremendous effort he said--
"I'm dyin'!"
And he looked it.
In Miss Parkinson's bower, Jimmie Barker was saying faintly: "Kiss me
good-bye, Edna; the hour has come!"
Shortly before, Mamie had whispered to Dan: "Darling, can you forgive
me?" And he had replied fervently: "Mame, if Jack Rice kin make you
happy, you take him."
Greiffenhagen had tried to administer more medicine. The boys refused
to touch it. Pete expressed the feelings of the others when he
muttered: "I ain't goin' to cross the Jordan drunk!"
It seemed to me that the three men were sinking. Mrs. Greiffenhagen,
an impassioned pessimist, was of opinion that they couldn't last
another hour!
At nine, when our nerves had been strained to breaking-point, Ajax and
a big-bearded stranger galloped up to Greiffenhagen's house.
"It's Doc. Elkins, of San Lorenzy," said a hired man.
"The boys are sinking!" sobbed Mrs. Greiffenhagen. "Where is the
Professor?"
"I left him in San Lorenzo."
Elkins and Ajax rushed upstairs and into the Greiffenhagen bedroom.
Elkins glanced at Pete, felt his pulse, and then said deliberately--
"My man, you're dying of sheer funk! You've poisoned yourself with
nothing more deadly than good Kentucky whisky! In six hours you'll be
perfectly well again."
Pete heard, and pulled himself together. It struck him that this was
not the first time that he had felt nearly dead after imbibing much
whisky.
"But the Perfessor?" he asked feebly.
"Professor Adam Chawner," said Elkins in a clear voice, "is in a
strait-waistcoat at the County Hospital. He will get over this, but
not so quickly as you will. He is quite mad for the moment about a
deadly microbe which only exists in his imagination."
The partitions in most Californian houses are indecently thin. As
Elkins's voice died away--and Pete said afterwards it was like a
strain of heavenly music--a feeble cheer was heard from the chamber
usually occupied by Miss Mary Willing.
"Jimmie," cried Dan, "air you dead yet?"
"Not quite," came an attenuated whisper from the other side of the
passage.
"We'll live to be married, old socks," continued Dan in a robuster
voice, "but I've got the worst dose o' prickly heat you ever saw."
The following day our three friends were riding the range. Six months
afterwards, Professor Adam Chawner resumed his work at the Smithsonian
Institute.