CHAPTER XX
BILL ATTENDS THE PICNIC
THE picnic aroused quite a stir for so frivolous a thing. When Blake read Mrs. Shields’ invitation to the outfit they acted like schoolboys dismissed for a vacation. Grins of delight were the style on the Star C, and the overflow of bubbling happiness took the form of practical joking against Humble, whose life suddenly held much anxiety. In Ford’s Station there was an air of expectancy, and Bill spent all of Saturday morning from daylight until time to start in cleaning his stage and grooming the horses, whose astonishment quickly passed into prohibitive indignation. After narrowly escaping broken bones and chewed arms Bill decided that the sextet could go as it was.
“Serves ’em right!” he yelled to his friendly enemy, the clerk, after he had barely dodged a vicious kick, wildly waving a curry comb. “Let the ignoramuses go like they are! Let ’em show how cheap and common they are! They never was any good for anything, anyhow, eating their heads off and kicking their best friend!”
“How about the time they beat out them Apaches?” asked the clerk, settling back comfortably against the coach.
“You get out!” yelled Bill pugnaciously. “Who asked you for talk, hey? And get away from that coach, you idiot, you’ll dirty it all up!”
“Sic ’em, Tige!” jeered the clerk pleasantly. “Chew ’em up!”
“What!” yelled Bill, swiftly grabbing up the pail of water which stood near him. “Sic ’em, is it!” he cried, running forward. “Chew ’em up, hey!” he continued, heaving the contents of the pail at the clerk, who nimbly sprang inside the vehicle and slammed the door shut behind him as the water struck it. He leaped out of the other door and was safely away before Bill realized what had happened. Then the driver said things when he saw the mess he had made of the coach, upon which he had spent two hard hours in polishing.
“Suffering dogs!” he shouted, dancing first on one foot and then on the other. “Now look what you’ve done! You’re a h–l of a feller, you are! After me rubbing the skin off’n my hands and breaking my arms a-polishing it up! You good for nothing, mangy half-breed! Wait till I get a hold of you, you long pair of legs, you! Just wait! I’ll show you, all right!”
The clerk twiddled his fingers from afar and jeered in his laughter: “Serves you right! Sic ’em, Towser! Eat ’em up, Fido! Sic ’em, sic ’em!” he shouted joyously, and forthwith ran for his life.