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He was consumed by a thirst which Glass stoutly refused to let him quench, and possessed by a fearful longing for a smoke. When he dozed off, regardless of the snores from the bunk-house adjoining, Berkeley Fresno's musical tenor was sounding in his ears. And Helen Blake was vaguely surprised. For the first time in their acquaintance Mr.
Over his shoulder Show Low shouted: "We all had a run in with that Buck McKee's bunch. Fresno's laid out with a hole in his shoulder. Billie Nicker's cashed in. I've got some of the Triangle boys, and we're goin' to make a clean-up." "You ain't goin' to do nothin' unless I say so. We don't want no range-war we'll git the man that did the killin'. Come on," commanded Sage-brush.
Speed exploded, when he and Glass were inside the gymnasium. "What made you say 'yes'?" "I had to." "Rot, Larry! You played into Fresno's hands deliberately! Now I've got to spend my evenings in bed while he sits in the hammock and sings Dearie." He shook his head gloomily. "Who knows what may happen?" "It will do you good to get some sleep, Wally."
Once outside, however, he exclaimed: "That's more of Fresno's work, Wally! I tell you, he's Jerry. He'll rib them pirates to clock you, and if they do well, you'd better keep runnin', that's all." "You can do me a favor," said Speed. "Buy that watch." "There's other watches on the farm." "Buy them all, and bring me the bill."
Soap fer Fresno's finger, clothes-pin fer Show Low's nose, bottle o' anty-fat fer Slim. It's a swop, Miss Polly!" "Well, out with yer great secret o' bread-makin'." "Well, Miss Polly, I take flour, an' water, an' sourin's, an' a pinch o' salt " "Flour an' water, an' sourin's, an' a pinch o' salt," repeated Polly, totting the list off on her fingers. "Why, so do I, an' so does every one.
From inside the house came the strains of Dearie, sung in a sympathetic tenor, and upon the conclusion Berkeley Fresno's voice inquiring: "Miss Blake, did I ever tell you about the time I sang Dearie to the mayor's daughter in Walla Walla?" Miss Blake appeared on the gallery with her musical admirer at her elbow. "Yes," said she, sweetly. "You told me all about the mayor's daughter a week ago."
The sultry afternoon was very long longer even than Berkeley Fresno's autobiography, and quite as dry. It was too hot and dusty to ride, so she took refuge in the latest "best seller," and sought out a hammock on the vine- shaded gallery, where Jean Chapin was writing letters, while the disconsolate Fresno, banished, wandered at large, vaguely injured at her lack of appreciation.
"An' when the bees come home with their honey, why, the red ants an' scorpions an' centipedes an' rattlesnakes git busy. I've seen some places in my time, but Benton beats 'em all.... Say, I'll sneak you out at nights to see what's goin' on, an' I'll treat you handsome. I'm sorta " The entrance of Durade cut short Fresno's further speech. "What are you saying to her?" demanded Durade, in anger.
The others joined with him in his merriment over Fresno's discomfiture. "Weddin's ain't so frequent where I come from as they is in Californy." "It's the climate," answered Fresno, with a broad grin. "So you ain't never been at a weddin'?" asked Allen, who was looking for another opening to have more fun with Sage-brush.
Again he sought the rhythm among the keys. He tried to whistle the air. That device failed him. "Will you all whistle that tune? I'm forgettin' it," was his plaintive request. "Sure, let her go, boys," cried Sage-brush. Falteringly, with many stops and sudden they tried to accompany Fresno's halting pursuit over the keyboard after the tune that was dodging about in his mind.
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