t the "sheepdip."
The four drew together and attempted further consultation, separated
hastily when his eye fell upon them, and waited meekly his further
pleasure. They knew better than to rouse his anger against them.

Weary, displeased because Rusty did not immediately respond to his
call, sent a shot or two through the window by way of hurrying him.

Whereupon Rusty cautiously opened the door, shoved a tray with bottle
and glasses ostentatiously out into the sunlight for a peace offering,
and finding that hostilities ceased, came forth in much fear and served
them.

They drank solemnly.

"Take another one, darn yuh," commanded Weary.

They drank again, more solemnly.

The sun beat harshly down upon the deserted street, and upon the bare,
tousled, brown head of Weary. The four stared at him uneasily; they
had never seen him like this before, and it gave him an odd, unfamiliar
air that worried them more than they would have cared to own.

Only Pink refused to lose heart. "Well, come on--let's wake up these
dead ones," he shouted, drawing his gun and firing into the air. "Get
busy, you sleepers! _Yip_! _Cowboys in town_!" He wheeled and darted
off down the street, shooting and yelling, and the others, with Weary
in their midst, followed. At the blacksmith shop, Pink, tacitly the
leader of the rescuers, would have gone straight on out of town. But
Weary whirled and galloped back, firing merrily into the air. A bit
chagrined, Pink wheeled and galloped at his heels, fuming inwardly at
the methodical reloading after every third shot. Cal, on the other
side, glanced across at Pink, shook his head ruefully and shoved more
shells into his smoking gun.

Back and forth from the store at one end of the street to the
blacksmith shop at the other they rode, yelling till their throats
ached and shooting till their gun-barrels were hot; and Weary kept pace
with them and out-yelled and out-shot the most energetic, and never
once forgot the little ceremony of shoving in fresh shells after the
third shot. Drunk, Weary appeared much more cautious than when sober.
Pink grew hot and hoarse, and counted the shots, one, two, three, over
and over till his brain grew sick.

On the seventh trip down the street, a sleek, black head appeared for
an instant over the top of the board-pile in the hotel yard. A pair of
frightened, slant eyes peered out at them. Weary, just about to
reload, caught sight of him and gave a whoop