McGlory, Carl, and Twomley waited in the calliope tent until their patience was exhausted.
"Py shiminy," fluttered Carl, "I bed you somet'ing for nodding dot Vily Pill don'd vas by der site show yet."
"I reckon you've dropped a bean on the right number," agreed the cowboy. "What's our next jump, your highness?"
The question was put to the Englishman.
"Aw, I say," said the latter, in remonstrance, "I'm not that, don't you know. I'm not of the peerage. An uncle and three cousins, all distressingly healthy, stand between me and an earldom."
"I want to know!" murmured McGlory, in mock surprise. "Why, I didn't think any one this side a lord could wear one of those little window panes in the right eye."
"You jest," said Twomley, with a faint smile. "Fancy!"
"Well, anyhow, what are we going to do? Sit here and wait, or hit the trail ourselves and find out what's doing?"
"Hit the trail?" echoed Twomley, lifting his brows. "Deuced odd, that. Why should we hit it, and what shall we hit it with?"
"Vat a ignorance!" murmured Carl.