“Wake up there, you drunken brutes! Wake up there, and help me guard these boys and this girl!”
Martin Mudd was in a furious rage.
His crack guards were all sound asleep again.
They had brought what was left of the whisky along with them, and it had done its work.
The consequence was that Mudd, who did not dare to move to shake them up, was rather at his wit’s ends to know what to do.
There he stood with a cocked revolver in each hand.
One covered Charley and the other covered Dick.
Clara was screaming out for him not to shoot, and Mudd himself was roaring lustily to his drunken companions, who never even stirred.
Now, if anyone thinks that Dick Darrell and Charley Nicholson were the sort to let such a situation as this last long, they are very greatly mistaken.
In far less time than it has taken to describe said situation the boys brought it to an end.