He moved to the left side of Kelsey, while Nebrasky stepped back, taking his position at Kelsey’s right.
“Me and Hozie Wheeler,” said Lonnie, “was ridin’—let ’er go, Nebrasky!”
And before the unsuspecting sheriff knew what was happening he had been grasped by arms and legs and was starting to imitate a Ferris wheel.
Exerting all their strength, the two drunken cowboys managed to swing Kelsey up to where his feet were almost pointing at the ceiling—but there they stuck. Their leverage was gone. Kelsey’s six-shooter fell from his holster, and his watch fell the full length of the chain, striking Kelsey in the chin.
Overbalanced, the two cowboys started staggering backward, stumbled into a card-table and went down with a crash, letting the struggling Kelsey drop squarely on the top of his head.
The crash was terrific. Nebrasky went backward, almost to the wall, working his feet frantically to try to catch up with his body, but went flat on his back. Lonnie caromed off the card-table and landed on his hands and knees, yelling for everybody to get out of his way.
But Kelsey suffered most. He had fallen about three feet on the top of his head, and was still seeing stars. Leach, being of a thoughtful turn of mind, kicked Kelsey’s six-shooter down toward the middle of the room, where it came to rest under a card-table.
Several of the saloon employees, including Clark, the owner, came to Kelsey’s assistance and sat him in a chair, where he caressed his head and made funny noises.
“You boys better go before he wakes up,” advised Clark.
“Is that sho?” asked Lonnie thickly. “Shince when did the Flyin’ H outfit learn t’ run, I’d crave to know?”