“Mebbe you think because I ain’t as big as a house you can sit there an’ laugh at me. I’ll have you know you can’t,” the boy snapped.
“Fellow, I’m not laughin’ at you. Napoleon was a runt, I’ve heard tell. But it was comical, you stickin’ yore head up through the hay thataway. I’ll stand pat on that, an’ I ain’t a-going to fight about it either.”
The soldier’s dignity melted to a grin. “Did you say drinks was on you, Jumbo?”
After Big Bill had fed his horse they went away arm in arm to see what Dolan could do for them in the way of liquid refreshment.
Just before the rangers and soldiers saddled for the start, Dud jingled over to his friend who was helping to pack the supply-wagons.
“Lady wants to see you, Bob. I’ll take yore place here,” Dud said.
Dillon lifted a barrel half full of flour into the nearest wagon and straightened a body cramped from stooping. “What lady?” he asked.
“Listen to the fellow,” derided Hollister. “How many ladies has he got on the string, do you reckon?” The fair-haired cowpuncher grinned. “You meander round to the back of the hotel an’ I expect you’ll meet up with the lady. Mollie Larson she—”
“Oh, Mrs. Larson.” For a moment a wild hope had flamed in Bob’s heart. His thoughts had flashed to another woman in the hotel.
“Why, yes. Mollie runs the hotel, don’t she? Was you lookin’ for some other lady to send for you?” Dud asked innocently.