‘Ex-actly. What do we do, Bertie?’
‘I dunno. Go home? No, that wasn’t it. Le’s have ’nother drink.’
They drank from the bottle.
‘’F poor old Bennie was only here,’ sighed Spike. ‘He loved to drink from a bottle.’
‘Tha’s it!’ exclaimed Bert. ‘Tha’s what we came for. Don’tcha ’member, Spike? We was goin’ to do shomethin’.’
‘Yessir,’ choked Spike. ‘Le’s go out and shee if we can’t find that murderin’ nester. We’ll lock’m up.’
‘Tha’s the idea. Wait’ll I button my vest around thish danged bottle. We’ll show ’m shomethin’, ol’ par’ner.’
They managed to get on their horses and headed away in the darkness. Both horses wanted to run, and both riders were willing to let them. They were too drunk to realize their danger in going to the nester’s place at night.
There were no lights in the old ranch-house. They fell off their horses at the corral fence, had another drink and tried to formulate a plan of battle. It was very dark out there. Somewhere in the hills a coyote yipped lonesomely.
‘Wha’s the idea now?’ asked Bert drunkenly.