“Rye––hell!” The gambler was not a patient man, and the laws of hospitality interested him not in the least. “Say”––he pointed at the open Bible on the table beside Sandy––“takin’ on psalm-smitin’?”
Scipio hurled himself into the breach.
“It’s them regulations Sunny give me for raisin’ the kids. They need a Bible talk after their bath. I bin readin’ up some.”
A momentary twinkle flashed into the gambler’s eyes.
“Have you give ’em their bath?” he demanded.
Scipio pointed at the stove, on which the water was already boiling.
“The water’s cookin’,” he said. “Guess it’s most ready.” The gambler glanced round the room severely.
“Then why the devil is you’se fellers settin’ around? Wher’s the tub?”
“Down at the creek. It’s the wash-tub,” Scipio explained, bestirring himself. The other men stood up ready.
There was no doubt that Bill had taken possession of the situation. He always seemed to dominate his fellows. Now he caught Scipio’s eye and held him.