CHAPTER XI
ROCKET
The two men reached Rocket before midnight and rode up to the door of the combination saloon and hotel. While Scotty hammered on the planks with his fist, Loudon uttered stentorian yells. Rocket, male and female, awoke, poked their heads out of the windows and shrilly demanded information.
"Hoss thief!" bawled Loudon. "He's ridin' a long-legged chestnut with a white spot on his nose! Fellah with him on a black horse! The sport on the black may or may not be dressed like a bird, accordin' to whether he's washed himself! Have yuh seen 'em?"
Rocket with one voice assured Loudon that he was drunk, and advised the watering-trough.
"I ain't foolin'," expostulated Loudon. "The gent on the black cayuse, which his name is Block, Sheriff o' Fort Creek County, was tarred an' feathered in Paradise Bend this afternoon."
Partisan Rocket cheered, and, in the same breath, grieved that neither of the fugitives had been seen and clamoured to know details of the tarring and feathering. Rocket was in Sunset County, and it was delightful to hear that Fort Creek, in the person of its sheriff, had been insulted.
Loudon, sitting at ease on his weary, drooping-headed pony, told the tale. He carefully refrained, however, from mentioning his own leading part in the affair. Rocket received the story with howls of mirth. Later, the male portion stuffed its nightshirts into trousers, pulled on boots, and gathered three deep around Loudon and Scotty while the two devoured cold beef and beans in the dining room of the hotel.
"Glad to see yo're feelin' better over yore hoss," observed Scotty, when the last Rocketer had departed.
"Oh, I made 'em laugh," said Loudon, dismally. "But it didn't make me feel like laughin' myself a little bit. I feel just as bad as ever—worse if anythin'. Why, Scotty, that hoss could do everythin' but talk."