His, by the
way, was the only gun in sight, although there were perhaps a half dozen
in the room.
"She ain't exactly gone to bed," giggled the garrulous old man Adams,
"bein' as there ain't no bed for her to go to. Ma Drury is inhabitin'
one right now, while the other two is pre-empted by Lew Yates' wife an'
his mother-in-law."
"Pshaw," muttered Hap Smith. "That ain't right. She's an awful nice girl
an' she's clean tuckered out an' cold an' wet. She'd ought to have a bed
to creep into." His eyes reproachfully trailed off to Poke Drury. The
one-legged man made a grimace and shrugged.
"I can't drag Lew's folks out, can I?" he demanded. "An' I'd like to see
the jasper as would try pryin' Ma loose from the covers right now. It
can't be did, Hap."
Hap sighed, seeming to agree, and sighing reached out a big hairy hand
for the bottle.
"She's an awful nice girl, jus' the same," he repeated with head-nodding
emphasis. And then, feeling no doubt that he had done his chivalrous
duty, he tossed off his liquor, stretched his thick arms high over his
head, squared his shoulders comfortably in his blue flannel shirt and
grinned in wide good humour. "This here campoody of yours ain't a
terrible bad place to be right bow, Poke, old scout.
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