He
rode joyfully and even began a poem to the occasion. Williams was first
to notice that Overland's speech was growing thick and that his free
hand clasped the saddle-horn.
The others, riding a little to the rear, burst suddenly into boisterous
laughter. "What you think, Brand?" called Pars Long. "Bud's jest been
countin' his fingers and he says there is one missin'. He ain't sure
yet, but he's countin' hard. He has to skip when he comes to number one
on his right mitt. Says he can't get started to count, that way."
"Some lucky it ain't his head," replied Williams.
"His head? Bud would never miss that. But his pore little ole finger,
layin' calm and cold back there. A very sad business, brethren."
"I paid twelve sweaty plunks for her in Los and look at her!" cried Pars
Long, doffing his sombrero. The high crown was literally shot to pieces.
"I guess I am some wise guy. You fellas kidded me about sportin' an
extra high lid. Come on, Chico, they're laughin' at us!"
"If they'd 'a' shot the crown off clean down to your ears, you'd never
noticed it," grumbled Billy Dime.
"Mebby I am a flat-headed chicken, Billy, but I got both wings yet,"
retorted Long.
Billy Dime looked down at the blood-soaked sleeve of his right arm.
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