“Well, I’ll be damned. Ain’t this the luck! Here’s four aces! By Gawd!”
“It seems like as if you was bitten, Mr. Loring,” said Hankins. “Great game that was. Well, gents, have another drink now on the house.”
Stephen, in a dazed manner, took his drink, then dimly there came into his mind his orders to work night shift.
“What—whatsh the time?” he asked.
“It’s close to ten,” answered Jackson.
The faint idea kept crawling in Loring’s mind: “Night shift, hoist, must go.” He plunged out into the darkness, and tried to drag himself into the saddle.
When he had gone the two other men roared with laughter.
“That was easy,” exclaimed Jackson, “but I guess we had better look after him a bit now, or he will be in trouble.” They went out after Stephen, and found him still trying to climb into the saddle. Each time that he tried, he almost succeeded, then he swayed, and fell back onto the muddy ground. The pony, under these unusual proceedings, was growing restive. They lifted Stephen onto the horse. He lurched, and almost fell off on the other side.
“Easy now. You’re all right,” said Jackson.
Taking the pony by the bridle he led him into the saloon. With Loring swaying in the saddle, the horse walked listlessly up to the bar, while Hankins playfully pulled his tail.