“That’s all right, ma’am,” says Muley, taking hold of her other arm. “You can trust Telescope—as long as me and Chuck and Hen are along to protect you. Where we going, Telescope?”
“We’ll leave our broncs here and take the buckboard,” says Telescope. “The old man is in a poker game by this time, and he won’t need it.”
“I asked you in a lady-like manner to tell me where we’re going,” says Muley. “Is it a secret, Telescope?”
“I’ll explain when we get there, Muley,” he replies.
The four of us helps the lady into the buckboard, while them two roan broncs dance a jig against the hitching-rack. The lady acts scared stiff, but that’s natural under these circumstances.
“I’ll drive,” proclaims Telescope. “The lady sets in the middle, and Muley on the end. You other two can set in the back or get your broncs.”
“Your statement shows lack of consideration and fine thought,” states Chuck. “I am going to ride on that seat. Sabe?”
“Nominations being in order, I’ll speak a word or two in favor of old man Peck’s son, Henry,” says I. “I don’t care a whoop who drives, but I’ll say right here that Henry Clay Peck is the third member of the seat-riders.”
All of which makes it hard to arrive at a peaceful solution. Telescope’s idea of a proper argument is to slam his sombrero on the ground and talk at the top of his voice. Naturally this aggravates said touchy team, with the result that they casts domestication to the four winds and whales off up the street with the fair one all alone on the seat and the lines dragging.
“Who in —— untied them animals?” yelps Muley.