Profound silence followed Tex’s perusal of the letter. The cowboys were struck dumb. But suddenly Nevada exploded: “My Gawd, fellars, today’s the nineteenth!”
“Wal, Springer needs a schoolmarm at the ranch,” finally spoke up the practical Andy. “There’s half a dozen kids growin’ up without any schoolin’, not to talk about other ranches. I heard the boss say this hisself.”
“Who the mischief did it?” demanded Tex, in a rage with himself and his accomplices.
“What’s the sense in hollerin’ aboot thet now?” returned Nevada. “It’s done. She’s comin’. She’ll be on the Limited. Reckon we’ve got five hours. It ain’t enough. What’ll we do?”
“I can get awful drunk in thet time,” contributed Panhandle, nonchalantly.
“Ahuh! An’ leave it all to us,” retorted Tex, scornfully. “But we got to stand pat on this heah deal. Don’t you know this is Saturday an’ thet Springer will be in town?”
“Aw, confound it! We’re all goin’ to get fired,” declared Panhandle. “Serves us right for listenin’ to you, Tex. We can all gamble this trick hatched in your head.”
“Not my haid more’n yours or anybody,” returned Tex, hotly.
“Say, you locoed cow-punchers,” interposed Nevada. “What’ll we do?”
“We’ll have to tell Springer.”