“Not yet,” I yells back and tries to catch up with the rest of my bunch, who seem to have met somebody and then went on.
That somebody was Doughgod. I finds him setting in the middle of the road with the brim of his hat down around his neck and a fool look on his face. As I come up, he holds up the letter he’s hanging on to and he says to me:
“Huh-Henry, she ain’t—ain’t coming here. She’s gug-got a bub-better job. She ain’t coming here, Henry.”
“She shows a lot of sense,” says I, and I lopes on.
I seen Telescope and Chuck and Muley gallop off the street and cut across the hills; so I puts on more speed and catches them.
“Bill McFee is up there,” pants Telescope when we slows to a walk. “Dud-don’t forget we’re four John Does.”
“That ain’t nothing to the word I’d use,” groans Muley.
Well, we eventually got home. We collapses on the steps of the bunk-house, and I don’t care if I never move again. Pretty soon Telescope glances up at the door and grunts.
Half-way up the door a piece of white paper has been pasted; so we creaks to a standing position and peruses same:
I put your horses in the livery-stable last night, and, if you don’t want a big bill against them, you better get them right away.