Bill jumped down and fastened the horses with a rope which he tied to Tom's old tree-stump.
"Come on, fellows!" said Tom, going toward the house. Scarcely had he opened the door when his dog rushed madly past him out into the open, barking with all his might at something about a hundred yards behind the station.
"I guess he's found a gopher," said Tom, and then the three entered the hut, and Tom, taking a half-empty whisky bottle out of a cupboard, poured some into a cup without a handle, a shaving-cup, and an old tin cup.
"The express ought to pass in about ten minutes," said Tom, and then began the usual chat about the commonplaces of farm life, about the crops, and the price of cattle, while hunting anecdotes followed. Now and then Tom listened through the open door for sounds of the express, which was long overdue, till suddenly the back door was slammed shut by the wind.
It was Bill Parker's turn to treat, and he then told of how he had sold his foals at a good profit, and Bob launched out into all sorts of vague hints as to a big deal that he expected to pull off at Pendleton the next day. Bill kept an eye on his two horses, which he could just see through the window in the rear wall of the shanty.
"Don't let them run away from you," warned Tom; "horses as fresh as those generally skip off when the express passes by."
"Nothing like that!" said Bill Parker, glancing again through the open window, "but they are unusually restless just the same."
... "He was willing to give twenty dollars, was he?" asked Tom, resuming the former conversation.
But Bill gave no answer and continued to stare out of the window.
"Here's how, gentlemen!" cried Tom encouragingly, touching Bill's tin cup with his shaving-cup.