"A drink to the fool's success!" shouted Pritchen in high glee. "Say, Sam, you're a corker. You've missed your calling. You should be on the stage."
"Did he bite quick?" chimed in Perdue.
"Ha, ha, he bit like a d— sucker. But there's one thing I can't savvy."
"What's that?"
"He knew when Perkins arrived, and asked me why he didn't go to him at once."
"The devil!" ejaculated Pritchen, setting down his half-drained cup. "How in h— did he know that?"
"Who shaid Perkins?" broke in a watery-eyed individual, staggering up to the group. "Here he-hic-ish. Watcher want, eh?"
"It's all right, Dave," laughed Pritchen. "Come and have a drink. You held the trump card this time without any doubt."
"Don't care'f I do," assented the man. "I-hic-alish holds trumps."
While the men laughed, drank, and swore in the saloon, Keith was speeding far out upon the long trail. The dogs were in excellent form, and enjoyed the exhilarating exercise with their beloved master. The moon was full, and only a short pause was made at night for rest and refreshment.