"Hey, Cavalry," cried Clausen. "Come on an' gimme a hand," and the two disappeared down the trail.
The leader returned, heralded by singing and swearing, and pushed Frisco over the mesa top to sprawl full-length on the ground. Shaw looked down at him with an expression of anger and anxiety and then turned abruptly on his heel as a quavering snore floated up from the other.
"Here, Manuel!" he called, sharply. "Take my glasses an' go out to yore lookout rock. Look towards Eagle an' call me if you see anybody."
The Mexican shuffled away as Cavalry and Clausen, loaded down, appeared over the edge of the mesa wall and dropped their loads at Shaw's feet.
"What did you tell him to get?" asked Clausen, marvelling.
"What do you think I told him to get?" snapped Shaw.
"I don't know, seeing what he brought back," was the reply.
Shaw examined the pile. "G-d's name, what's all this stuff?" he roared. "Bacon! An' all th' meat we want is down below. Canned milk! Two bottles XXX Cough Syrup, four bottles of whiskey, bottle vaniller extract, plug tobacco, an' three harmonicas! Is that flour!" he yelled, glaring at a small bag. "Twenty pounds! Five pounds of salt!"
"I reckon he bought all th' cartridges in town," Cavalry announced, staggering into sight with a box on his shoulder. "Lord, but it's heavy!"
"Twenty pounds of flour to last nine men a month!" Shaw shouted, kicking at the bag. "An' look at this coffee—two pounds! I'll teach him a lesson when he gets sober."