“Didn’t ye hear that yell, a minit ago?” inquired Hoppy Smith.
“Didn’t hear nothin’.”
“It come from this a-way,” said Lonesome Pete. “Reckon nothin’ short of er cannon kin wake you, Spang, arter ye once drop off.”
“It ain’t often that anythin’ happens in camp durin’ the day,” returned Spangler. “If you fellers got business anywheres else, don’t let me detain ye a minit.”
Spangler settled the broad of his back against the wall behind him once more, apparently bent on continuing his nap. Just then, however, Hank Tenny, a “digger” from up the gulch, plunged around the corner of the hotel, wild-eyed and full of excitement.
He carried a riata, and was making it ready for action when he hove in sight.
Behind Tenny came Wing Hi, the dining-room boy, and right at Wing Hi’s heels came Wong Looey, the hotel cook.
“Was that you, Tenny, that let off that yell?” shouted Gentleman Jim.
“Well, I reckon,” answered Tenny.
“What’s the rip?”