“Now, look ahere, little one,” Buckhart said firmly, as he beheld these preparations, “you needn’t think you’re going to settle down there for one of your talk fests. I’m going to bed, and I reckon you’d better hike for your own bunk. You hear me!”
Tucker arose with an injured look on his freckled face.
“I’m thankful I haven’t the inhospitable nature of some people,” he remarked, as he edged toward the door. “I’ve heard much about the free, open-handed nature of Westerners, but the only one I ever had the misfortune to get real intimate with, has such a mean, envious, grudging——”
He dodged through the door just ahead of the Texan’s shoe, and finished his sentence in the corridor:
“—— unaccommodating disposition, that he must be the exception that proves the rule.”
“Go to bed, you little runt,” Buckhart grinned. “You sure buzz around worse than a mosquito. Go to bed before I lay violent hands on you.”
“Don’t you dare put your hands on me,” defied Tommy. “I’ll chaw you up if you do. You hear me gently——”
The Westerner made a dash at him, and the little fellow skipped into his room and snapped the key.
Dick, who had been watching these proceedings with a smile, now walked down the hall to the room next to Buckhart’s and, stepping in, closed the door mechanically behind him.
Then, as he groped for the electric light button, he suddenly remembered that, when he had stepped into Brad’s room, he had left his own light turned on. In fact, it had been burning ever since Roger Clingwood had come upstairs with them.