Horace had keeled over so that his elbow rested on Tank’s chest an’ his head rested on his hand; but the other hand was still on Tank’s brow, an’ I reckon Horace must have rubbed until he didn’t care whether it was sleep or death he drew, just so he got rid o’ keepin’ awake. Tank had reached up one hand so it circled Horace’s waist; and they made the most lovable group a body ever see.
While I was still watchin’ ’em, Horace’s arm gave out, an’ he settled down on top o’ Tank’s nose. In about two minutes Tank came to with a jump, an’ heaved Horace to the foot of the bed. Tank was really startled, an’ he came to his feet glarin’. “You blame little squab, you!” he yelled. “What are you tryin’ to do—smother me?”
Horace staggered to his feet, but he couldn’t get his eyes open more ’n a narrow slit. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Mr. Williams,” he blubbled like a drunk man. “I rubbed until I thought my hand would fall off at the wrist; but I reckon I must ’a’ dropped asleep. Lie down again, an’ I’ll rub you some more.”
“Too late,” sez Tank, “too late, too late. I never can sleep while daylight’s burnin’; but still, my nerves don’t get so dangerous until after nightfall; so we’ll just turn to an’ get breakfast.”
Well, I got up after yawnin’ a few times; and after askin’ if they had had a restful night, I started to get breakfast. Horace staggered about, gettin’ wood an’ water an’ doin’ what he was able to, while Tank wrangled in the hosses.
After breakfast, which I must say for Horace, he et in able shape, we started to saddle up, puttin’ the spare saddle on the hoss I had rode the day before. “Which one o’ you is goin’ back after the other buckboard?” asked Horace.
“Why, we ain’t goin’ back at all,” sez I. “It’s full fifty miles, an’ we can’t keep switchin’ buckboards every day on a trip like this. We’ll just ride the ponies the rest o’ the way.”
“Ride?” sez Horace. “Ride!”
[CHAPTER NINE—TREATING THE CASE]
Horace started to enlarge on how much he didn’t know about ridin’; but Tank breaks in with a plea for his nerves. “Look here,” he said, scowlin’ at Horace with his good eye, while the free one rove around wild in his face, “your nerves are a little out o’ fix, an’ mine is plumb tied into knots. This here outin’ will be the best thing we can do for ourselves, an’ you got to come along. No matter which way you go, you got to ride; so the’ ain’t no sense in makin’ a fuss about it. We’ll mount you up on as gentle a cayuse as the’ is in the West; an’ we won’t tell no one if you hang on to the saddle horn goin’ down hill.”