“Le’s go for ride,” choked Cates. “Need —uk—air.”
“That,” said Sleepy owlishly, “is a shuggestion.”
“I know!” exploded Lonnie. “C’mere.”
They followed him outside, much to the relief of the bartender, and Lonnie unfolded his scheme. There were many drawbacks, but each and every one was overcome.
With great difficulty Lonnie Myers and Dan Leach secured their horses at the hitch-rack, and they all weaved their erratic way down to the Pinnacle livery-stable, where they circled to the rear. A shed with a long sloping roof had been added to the stable at some remote time, and within this stable was the hearse.
The door was merely fastened with a hasp. They rolled the old hearse out into the yard and tied two lariat ropes to the end of the tongue. The ancient equipage of the dead was resplendent in a fresh coat of varnish and the four horsetail plumes waved boldly from the corners of the top.
They put Cates inside, because he was unable to climb to the top, while Honey Bee, Sleepy and Nebrasky crowded together on the narrow seat. It was quite a task to get both horses pulling at the same time, but once they got the old hearse rolling it was no trick to keep it rolling.
Around they went into the main street, gaining momentum each moment; so much momentum, in fact, that the horses took notice of things and seemed to desire more distance between themselves and this creaking equipage with the yelping cowboys and flowing plumes.
Lonnie’s mount was traveling one side of the street, while Dan’s mount seemed to prefer the opposite sidewalk, while the hearse took a fairly straight route up the middle of the street, until almost opposite the Pinnacle City bank. Then Lonnie’s horse got tangled up in a hitch-rack and Dan’s whirled and started the opposite direction.
Crash! The front wheels of the hearse jack-knifed and struck the sidewalk.