“Whoopee, boys! Some of you tie Weary down and set on him while I shave,” cried Cal, jubilant over the mutiny. “We'll make short work of this toilet business.”
Whereupon Weary was borne to the floor, bound hand and foot with silk handkerchiefs, carried bodily and laid upon his bed.
“Oh, the things I won't do to you for this!” he asserted, darkly. “There won't nary a son-of-a-gun uh yuh get a dance from my little schoolma'am--you'll see!” He grinned prophetically, closed his eyes and murmured: “Call me early, mother dear,” and straightway fell away into slumber and peaceful snoring, while the lather dried upon his face.
“Better turn Weary loose and wake him up, Chip,” suggested Jack Bates, half an hour later, shoving the stopper into his cologne bottle and making for the door. “At the rate the rigs are rolling in, it'll take us all to put up the teams.” The door slammed behind him as it had done behind the others as they hurried away.
“Here!” Chip untied Weary's hands and feet and took him by the shoulder. “Wake up, Willie, if you want to be Queen o' the May.”
Weary sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Confound them two Jacks! What time is it?”
“A little after eight. YOUR crowd hasn't, come yet, so you needn't worry. I'm not going up yet for a while, myself.”
“You're off your feed. Brace up and take all there is going, my son.” Weary prepared to finish his interrupted beautification.
“I'm going to--all the bottles, that is. If that Dry Lake gang comes loaded down with whisky, like they generally do, we ought to get hold of it and cache every drop, Weary.”
Weary turned clear around to stare his astonishment.
“When did the W. C. T. U. get you by the collar?” he demanded.
“Aw, don't be a fool, Weary,” retorted Chip. “You can see it wouldn't look right for us to let any of the boys get full, or even half shot, seeing this is the Little Doctor's dance.”
Weary meditatively scraped his left jaw and wiped the lather from the razor upon a fragment of newspaper.
“Splinter, we've throwed in together ever since we drifted onto the same range, and I'm with you, uh course. But--don't overlook Dr. Cecil Granthum. I'd hate like the devil to see you git throwed down, because it'd hurt you worse than anybody I know.”