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Updated: June 23, 2025
It so happened that these troops were Sammies and Blaine, with a swoosh, swept down to within a dozen yards right over the heads of these men and the column heard his megaphone bellowing: "Watch out, bunkies! 'Ware that wrecked plane! She's full of Boche bombs. Watch out spread out! Give it room! Oh, you doughboys! Rah for Uncle Sam!"
"Name yerselves, bunkies I can't see yer." "Simmes." "Schmitt." "Ravel DeLasser." "Carter." "Jacob Johansen." "Sam." "That's enough; you lads remain here with me. Have Harwood watch LeVere, while the rest of you get out the boats." "How many, sir?" "The two quarter-boats will hold us all. Knock out the plugs in the others and Watkins!" "Ay, ay, sir."
"I'm going home to-night." "But you're coming back?" "Yes." Blackford hesitated. "Are you going to join this outfit?" meaning his own regiment. "I don't know; this or the Rough Riders." "Well," Blackford seemed embarrassed, and his manner was almost respectful, "if we go together, what do you say to our going as 'bunkies'?" "Sure!" "Thank you." The two men grasped hands.
"Oh you, Slats Davis!" "Hello, Curly! How are things a-comin'?" "Fine. When did you blow in to Saguache? Ain't you off your run some?" They had ridden the range together and had frolicked around on a dozen boyish larks. Their ways had suited each other and they had been a good deal more than casual bunkies. To put it mildly the meeting was likely to prove embarrassing.
I won't give neither of you a thought except for Sinclair." "Ah?" "Him and you have been bunkies, if he ever should find out what I done, he'd go on my trail. Maybe he will anyway. And he's a bad one to have on a gent's trail." "You fear him?" she asked curiously, for it had seemed impossible that this cold-blooded gunman feared any living thing.
He and the horse wrangler, who were bunkies, were constantly scuffling, reckless to the point of injury, the pulse of healthy manhood beating a constant alarm to rough contest. The afternoon previous to the accident, a wayfaring man had overtaken the herd, and spent the night with the trail outfit.
I'll never forget him striding up and down praying and cursing his first fight, you know and his boy's voice 'Be cock sure they're dead, fellows, before you leave 'em behind for the bolos!... For the love of God don't leave your bunkies behind for the butchers! "In a half minute, I saw it all what a thing for white men to be gathered for slaughter on a trail over here.
So he went to bed, knowing perfectly well that his three bunkies would come piling in at some outlandish hour and jabber about the "kid," and he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep again for hours. He was what is commonly known as a "grass widower."
Early in June the herd began to assume its required numbers. George Edwards returned, and we naturally became bunkies, sharing our blankets and having the same guard on night-herd. The drovers encouraged all the men employed to bring along their firearms, and when we were ready to start the camp looked like an arsenal.
"And I do hope you're right about the money being there. Not so much for my sake," he added quickly, "but because I promised to whack up with my bunkies, and I want to keep my word." "Well, you send a message there and see if I'm not right," concluded Maxwell, and then, being rather weak, he was ordered by the nurse to take a rest.
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