"Wake up, old son, an' take a new hold," said the cowpuncher kindly, as Hank gave no signs of life except to roll his eyes and breathe in harsh, jerky groans.
"Get us a bucket of water, Jim," called the rover.
The water had the desired effect. Hank's face assumed a more healthy colour; he drew a deep breath and sat up.
"I'm feelin' some considerable used up," he muttered slowly; and then he began to swear in that vivid, forcible way which obtains at sea. Presently he rose to his feet and stood staggering, then lurched forward like a drunken man and headed for the topgallant-ladder.
"He's shore as wobbly as a tenderfooted cow-hoss in a patch o' cactus," remarked Broncho, as he noted Hank's tottering steps.
"I was all choked up in a minit; that minin' tough's fingers are like iron clamps," threw back the other, as he carefully clawed his way down on to the maindeck.
"And that h'ain't no josh, neither," declared the cockney feelingly. "'E nearly 'as you garrotted inter dead meat, s'elp me bob."
"I allows Hank has all he wants," pronounced Broncho. "When women is the theme o'discourse, gents o' savvy cash in an' quit; thar's no knowin' which way the cat will hop. You're liable to get creased or reap a skinful o' lead whichever way you plays your hand."
And thus the argument finished.