“I search for an honest man.”
“Good hunting to you,” says I. “You’ve got some chore.”
Then I hears Muley’s voice saying.
“Holy henhawks, I reckon I’ve got to make another trip. Danged if I’ll
mop up the place.”
“Where’s the little feller, Muley?” I asks.
“Telescope? He pulled out for town.”
“Naw, I mean the little feller who looked for a honest man.”
“Man, you must ’a’ got hit hard. I never seen no little feller.”
“You didn’t need to dump half a bucket of water on me,” says I, feeling
of my wet self.
“Half a bucket? Blame your hide, Henry, I made three trips to the well.
I had to anchor you to keep you from floating out of the door.”
I doctored that lump on my head until she ain’t bigger than a baseball,
and then me and Muley spent the rest of the day resting—as usual. About
ten o’clock that night we hears somebody ride in, and a little later
Telescope’s hat sails in the window and rolls into a corner. We don’t
say a word, and then we hears Telescope saying—
“Well, they didn’t shoot at it nor kick it out, so I reckon I’ll take a
chance.”
He comes in and sets down on a bunk.
“Chuck home yet?”
“Nope,” says I.
“Mad at me, Henry?”
“Uh-huh.”
“It slipped, Henry—tha’s all. Muley made me mad. He’s a mean
son-of-a-gun.”
“Yes,” says I, “you both are. Tomorrow I’m going to buy me a steel
helmet and a life-preserver. It’s bad enough to have one of you slough
me over the head without having the other step in and try to drown me.”
* * * * *
I beat Muley and Telescope out of seventy dollars, conversation money,
and then we went to bed. Must have been along about two o’clock when we
hears voices singing; so I lights the lamp.
“No-o-o-o-o-bod-e-e-e-e-e knows how dry I a-a-a-a-a-a-am.”