"Say, Roarer, you got to find the scissors. You was the last one that
had 'em. Where are they?" called Holy accusingly.
Roarer stared blankly, then whirled out the door. Holy sat swearing
until Roarer re-appeared and exhibited the lost shears, explaining, "I
just happened to think that I couldn't find the wire-nippers that day
when you was cuttin' Limber's hair, and that was why I got 'em from you.
I left 'em in the blacksmith shop, but I disremembered it till you spoke
about 'em. They may cut paper, but they ain't no good for cuttin' wire."
He handed the badly damaged shears to Holy who seated himself on the
floor. Selecting a roll of paper from the pile before him, Holy opened
and contemplated it in perplexity, finally appealing to Bronco:
"Say, Bronc, there's two white edges. Shall I trim 'em both?"
Bronco stood gazing down at the paper. "Durned if I know," he confessed.
"But thar ain't no use shirkin' the job since we tackled it. Pitch in,
Holy. Let 'er go, and cut 'em both off," he directed recklessly before
he was attracted by the struggles of Roarer and Limber, who dragged in a
galvanized tub.
Behind them came Fong, protesting wildly, "No clatchee more flouler. No
makee biscuits tomollow."
"Well, give us crackers," commanded Bronco. "This year room has got to
be papered today. Go chase yourself, Fong."
The Chinaman disappeared jabbering and shaking his head, but no one paid
attention to Fong's worries. Each was immersed in his own troubles.
Holy struggled heroically with spirals of paper, and volcanic outbursts
of his pet expressions floated from his part of the room as he
endeavoured to extricate himself from the enveloping coils. Bronco
hovered over the tub, directing Limber and Roarer, who dumped a sack and
a half of flour into it.
"You gotter put salt in, next," said Bronco, and the two cowpunchers
darted to a cupboard where each captured a small bag of salt.
"What next?" they demanded, becoming imbued with enthusiasm as the salt
mingled with the tub of flour.
"And--er--and--" floundered Bronco hopelessly. "There's something else.
What the devil is it?" he implored the others.
"Water," prompted Holy from his corner, his head and arms protruding
from the paper making him resemble a huge turtle. "I knowed you'd forget
that."
Bronco's ire found vent in a few words borrowed from Holy's vocabulary,
and Limber, mounted on a box, turned from inspecting the cupboard to
say: "If we're goin' to paper this room, you two quit scrapin' and get
down to business. If you ain't, jest say so, and I'll set Manuel to
whitewashin' it."
His threat had the desired effect. Bronco appealed to Limber, "Larry
told me to mix it like biscuit dough and thin it out with water. There
was somethin' else but I've plumb forgot it, Limber."
"Well, try lard, then," suggested Limber, poking his head back in the
cupboard and scanning the contents hoping to find the missing article,
even though it were necessary to add everything on the shelves. "How
about some niggerfoot molasses?"
"Lard's all right," replied Bronco, "but niggerfoot don't go in
biscuits."
"Well, it goes on top of 'em pretty slick, and it's good and sticky, so
it oughter be a good thing to put in," persisted Limber, holding out the
can. "Mebbe Larry forgot to tell you to use it."
"Jest a leetle bit," conceded Bronco, wishing heartily that Limber would
insist upon whitewashing the room; but not brave enough to suggest it
himself. It had taken him two years to live down the episode of the
buckskin cow, and he knew that Holy and Roarer would make life a burden
if he confessed his inability to finish the work he had so recklessly
undertaken.
He watched the black molasses trickle into the contents of the tub until
the last drop had fallen. Limber ascended the box again.
"Thar's another can of niggerfoot. Don't be stingy with it Bronc,"
admonished Limber.
Bronco had not the courage to negative any suggestion, but he groped
mentally, "It was a short word," he told Limber with a faint gleam of
hope.
"Dam!" exploded Holy. "Jest look at this dod-ratted, twistin' paper,
will you? Talk about your Hopi snake-dancers, they ain't in it with me!
Where am I at?" he demanded from a labyrinth of paper coils.
Bronco was glad of the chance to assume knowledge that he did not
possess, much as a small boy bolsters up his ebbing courage in a dark
lane by whistling loudly.
"I told you to cut the edges straight," he announced oracularly, "and
these year look like a cross-eyed maverick had been usin' a circular saw
to cut wall-paper for a merry-go-round. Why that paper would give a
minister a jag to look at it!"
"If one of you fellers would hog-tie that end whilst I get a
diamond-hitch on this'n, I mought have some show," defended Holy feebly.
Roarer went to the rescue and gripped one end of a roll while Holy
conscientiously proceeded to mutilate the edges and succeeded in making
the scallops a trifle smaller. Limber and Bronco resumed their
consultation.
"I bet it was yeast," jubilated Limber. "We all forgot about that, and
it's a short word, sure enough."
"I guess you're right," Bronco agreed with desperate haste, and without
delay he dumped a large can of baking powder into the tub. "Now, all we
got to do is thin her out and then she's ready to start work."
Limber helped him carry the tub into the front room, escorted by Roarer
and Holy, who trailed yards of paper which had escaped from their
encircling arms.
"We need a board and two saw-horses to stand on," said Bronco
cheerfully, believing the worst of the trouble was over. "Holy, you and
Roarer paste the paper with the whitewash brush, whilst Limber helps me
stic'er up. We got to have system if we want to get anything done
right."
The first strip was duly prepared, and they viewed it with feelings akin
to the emotions of Columbus and his crew when they sighted land. Bronco
climbed on the plank that rested on the saw-horses. As he reached down
for the wet strip which Limber held up to him, the board tipped
suddenly. Bronco slid, clawing wildly at space until he enveloped Limber
in a pasty embrace. The impact caused them both to fall across Holy and
Roarer who were engaged in spreading paste on another strip. The latter
proved no obstacle in the mad career of Limber and Bronco, which ended
ignominiously in a sea of paste from the overturned tub.
When the confusion had subsided sufficiently, the men surveyed the wreck
with voiceless disgust, until Holy spoke sarcastically.
"I suppose you'll say this belongs in the deal, Bronc. What's next?
You sure seem to be the movin' spirit. But, one thing I'm stackin' my
chips on, is that I'll know better the next time I start to paper a room
and won't do it."
"You can quit if you want to. I ain't no quitter. Thar's half a sack of
flour left," Bronco challenged over his shoulder as he started for the
door to the back porch where he had deposited the surplus flour. The
half-sack of flour had disappeared.
"I bet that Chink got it," asserted Bronco wrathfully, but there was no
sign of Fong in answer to their calls. Then Limber pointed to a couple
of burros that were demolishing the last shreds of a flour sack.
"That settles it," grunted Bronco, blissfully ignorant that while they
had been occupied, Fong had slipped slyly through the screen door of the
porch, clutched the half sack of flour, retreated successfully and after
dumping the contents of the sack into another sack, which had been
washed, the Chinaman with a leer of triumph, tossed the original sack to
the burros. Then, complacently he began mixing the dough for the next
day's baking; but at intervals he peered at the fast vanishing flour
sack, and saw that his ruse was successful when the cowboys discovered
the two burros.
"Gosh, all we got to show is a nice mess that's got to be cleaned up,
and a bill down to the Headquarters for paper with pink roses. Ain't it
a shame? Just when we was getting along so fine, too." Bronco's tones
were lugubrious, and they all looked regretfully at the coils of paper
that cumbered the room. Like mourners at a funeral they gathered around
the coils. The pink roses grew more alluring. Bronco lifted one strip
and held it against the wall.
"Whitewash makes me sick," he affirmed.
"Suppose I go over to Eureka and ask Mrs. Burns to lend us enough flour
to finish up the job?" Limber made the suggestion and the idea was
accepted enthusiastically.
While he was gone the others scraped up the paste and collected the
scattered rolls of paper, then went to the bunkhouse and waited Limber's
return, unaware that almost half a sack of flour reposed in a corner of
Fong's tin trunk, while a batch of bread was rising beautifully in the
dishpan hidden beneath Fong's bed. Had any of the boys suspicioned the
true facts there would have been a badly-frightened Chinaman in Arizona.
When Limber returned he was accompanied by Mrs. Burns in her buggy,
while Peanut, Limber's pony, trotted at the back of the rig, hitched to
the axle.
"You boys have certainly run into a bunch of trouble," she laughed as
she nimbly climbed from the rig. "I told Limber that I might be able to
help you, for I've done all my own papering, you know."
Limber extricated a sack that held flour, and joined the procession to
the room they were now sure would be decorated with pink roses.
Mrs. Burns looked at the remnant of paste in the tub before she asked,
"What on earth did you use?"
"Everything we could find," confessed Bronco humbly. "We did leave out
eggs, sugar and pepper."
"All you need is flour, hot water and a little thin glue water," she
laughed.
"Glue!" they echoed.
"I told you Larry said it was a short word," triumphed Bronco. "Why
didn't some of you muttonheads think of glue?"
"You said he told you to make a thin biscuit dough, an thar ain't no
glue in that," retorted Holy, but further argument was avoided as Mrs.
Burns began issuing business-like orders.
By the time the sun was setting the papered room was pronounced a
thorough success, and Mrs. Burns made her way to the stables followed by
four cowboys whose hair and clothes spattered with dry paste, testified
to an honest day's labour.
Mrs. Burns surveyed them as she picked up the reins, ready to start
home, while Limber mounted Peanut to accompany her. It was eight miles
to Eureka Springs.
"I've heard of lost prospectors eating their boots," she said, "but if
you boys ate your clothes, you would need anti-fat. Tell the Boss I will
be over soon to call on the bride. Adios!" and with a flourish of the
whip she drove away, followed by the gratitude of the paste-daubed,
tired group.
It required numerous trips to the kitchen for buckets of hot water
before the boys removed the greater part of the concoction that clung
tenaciously to faces, hands and hair; then began a more vigorous attack
on their boots and clothes.
"It's durned lucky that Bronc disremembered about the glue,"
congratulated Roarer. "We'd a never got that off."
Bronco slumped into a rickety chair, tipping it against the wall to ease
its weakest leg, "It takes a woman to round up a stampede like our'n and
get the bunch headed right when it gets to millin'. I'm derned glad the
Boss is married, for this outfit needs female purtection."
"I never worked so hard in my life," sighed Holy, flopping on his bunk.
Bronco grinned across the room. "Ain't you forgot the time you wrote a
letter to Bill Johnson's sister? You sure worked that time--Set around
the bunkhouse till daylight tearin' up paper."
"Well, she asked all of us to write her," snapped Holy, "but none of you
fellers had the nerve to do it, and when you bet I couldn't, I called
your bluff and won out, didn't I?"
"You sure did," agreed the others, recalling the historic missive which
had been read aloud and duly admired before it was mailed.
_Dere Miss Johnson_
as I hav northin mutch to do I wil rite you a few lines we are al
wel hear but my pony has a soar back and we hope you are the same
as i have northin mutch to say i wil now clos
yours truly