Mills laughed. “I’d try a tree first,” he said.
But Joe had noted that all the time he stood near the bears, he had his hand on his hip, where his big automatic rested in its holster; and the scout suspected that he wasn’t quite so sure about the bears being entirely tame as he pretended.
Back at the hotel, the first thing they saw was Val, in the lobby, with a clean shave, his hair cut and plastered down in a smooth part, a clean shirt and a bright red necktie on, and his best white fur chaps, with silver buckles, on his legs.
“Oh, look at Val, all dressed up like Astor’s horse!” Bob shouted.
“Where are you going, Val?” the girls demanded.
“Oh, down to the big struggle,” said the young cowboy.
“The what?” they asked.
“The big struggle—the dance,” said he.
“A dance? A dance? Where?”
“Down to the hall. Better come.”