“And he’s pulled out of the valley, eh?”
“That’s what Tommy says. But that don’t mean anythin’, as far as our condition is concerned. Marsh can work from one place as well as another.”
“We’ll just have to wait and see what happens. If Blaze Nolan won’t tell Kendall Marsh where the Lost Trail is located, we’re safe, as far as rustlin’ our stock is concerned, and if it come to a showdown, I’ll go broke before I’ll give up keepin’ cases on the Pass.”
That night Bad News Buker got drunk. Inaction palled upon him, and he looked upon the flowing bowl for inspiration. A bad example as an officer of the law, it is true; but Bad News was human, in spite of his job.
Then came Tommy Simpson from the O Bar B, and “Ole” Olsen, from the Bar Anchor. Ole was a huge, blond, open-faced sort of person, while Tommy was of medium height, with copper-coloured hair and a wide mouth. Ole’s laugh was thunderous in its capacity, and after a few drinks he was as gentle as a grizzly bear.
Bad News welcomed them to his one-ring circus, which made it a three-ring attraction, and they started out to put on a regular show.
“Thish is the time fer all good men to come to the aid of their party,” declared Bad News, after they had become sufficiently organised to appreciate their own worth.
“Motion made an’ carried,” stated Tommy. “We shall now procheed to shave the country. Ole, will you lead us in our openin’ shong?”
“Hold everythin’,” begged Oscar, the barkeep. “Don’t let Ole sing. My gosh, he shakes all the glasses loose from the back bar.”
“Ole,” said Bad News seriously, “has what I conshider a good voice.”