"Wal," drawled Polly, "I reckon you're right at that, Cad. But I'd like to wring that little cayuse's neck just for luck."
The "little cayuse" referred to was sleeping sweetly in his tent, untroubled by the distress of the Rangers.
All that night the Rangers walked up and down, slapping their thighs, scratching their legs, for the older the night grew the harder did those fleas seem to take hold.
"I reckon their bills will be so dull by morning, after drilling our tough hides all night, that we won't feel them at all," observed Polly.
A low growl from Dippy Orell was the only reply to the remark. Now and then a man would throw himself down hoping to get a brief nap, but a few moments later he would be up stamping and scratching and growling deeply, threatening vengeance on the boy who had played the trick on them.
Next morning, Stacy Brown, for reasons best known to himself, got up ahead of the others of his party. Stacy took his time in dressing, then strolled out.
"Hullo, I guess the crowd is sleeping late this morning," he muttered. Then he halted. His eyes rested on the 'possum sack that he had left in the tent of the Rangers the night before. A broad grin spread over his face.
"I guess they won't be playing monkeyshines on Stacy Brown right away. I wonder if they got bitten much? I'm all swelled up where the insects made a meal on my skin. Hullo! Hi, fellows!"
Tad Butler and Ned Rector appeared at the door of their tent almost at once.
"Can't you let a fellow sleep?" demanded Ned. "What's the row about?
Got a 'possum for breakfast?"