Bunch Grass: A Chronicle of Life on a Cattle Ranch

by Horace Annesley Vachell

An hour later, the Professor, accompanied by me, returned to the bunk- house.

"I hope to find them asleep," he said. "I gave them enough alcohol to induce stupor."

"How much?"

"At least a quart."

I said with deference--

"I do not presume to question your treatment, but cowboys can carry an amazing quantity of whisky. Alcohol is a stimulant-narcotic, isn't it?"

"Perfectly."

"It stimulates first. Speaking from a variegated experience of cowboys, I should say that a quart of well-matured Bourbon would barely suffice to stimulate three powerful young men."

"'Um!" said the Professor thoughtfully. "I had not considered that. They assured me they were water-drinkers. However, a mistake of that sort is easily rectified."

So speaking, he tiptoed to the door of the bunk-house, and, finger upon lips, entered. Immediately a sharp exclamation indicated that something surprising had occurred. I followed quickly, to find the Professor staring, pop-eyed, at three vacant bunks.