"I hope to find them asleep," he said. "I gave them enough alcohol to induce stupor."

"How much?"

"At least a quart."

I said with deference--

"I do not presume to question your treatment, but cowboys can carry an amazing quant.i.ty of whisky. Alcohol is a stimulant-narcotic, isn't it?"

"Perfectly."

"It stimulates first. Speaking from a variegated experience of cowboys, I should say that a quart of well-matured Bourbon would barely suffice to stimulate three powerful young men."

"'Um!" said the Professor thoughtfully. "I had not considered that.

They a.s.sured me they were water-drinkers. However, a mistake of that sort is easily rectified."

So speaking, he tiptoed to the door of the bunk-house, and, finger upon lips, entered. Immediately a sharp exclamation indicated that something surprising had occurred. I followed quickly, to find the Professor staring, pop-eyed, at three vacant bunks.

"Gone!" said the Professor, in stupefaction.

"They can't have gone far, sir."

But within five minutes judgment upon this important point had to be suspended. Uncle Jake had obeyed instructions only too well. He had not been near the bunk-house. Indeed, he and the other ranch hands had been eating supper more than a hundred yards away. He was the first to suggest that no cowboy travelled far afoot--a suggestion that sent the Professor at a smart trot towards the big barn. Here, also, were three vacant stalls.

The Professor's patients, ill.u.s.trating pathetically the ruling pa.s.sion, had mounted and galloped away. Uncle Jake said, with a curious air of conviction--

"It's my idee that they want to hev one good time in town before they cash in their checks."

"Incredible!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the famous pathologist. He looked askance at me. I replied hesitatingly--

"I think it is possible, perhaps probable."

"If they're makin' San Lorenzy," said Uncle Jake, "we'll find their store clothes gone too."

We hastened to the bunk-house. Yes, upon the floor lay flannel shirts and jumpers and overalls. In a corner, where the Professor had left it, stood the demijohn of whisky. Uncle Jake lifted it.

"Gosh," said he, "the whisky's gone, too!"

"Thank Heaven!" muttered the Professor, wiping his forehead.

"Why?"

"Don't you understand? By the luck of things, they've taken their medicine!"

"A quart apiece!" I gasped. "We shall find them dead drunk on the road."

Uncle Jake delivered himself--

"It's my idee that they've jest filled up three bottles. There's a rubbish heap outside."

"We must follow them," said the Professor, grimly. He was no horseman, and San Lorenzo was six-and-twenty miles away.

"Yes," said Uncle Jake.

As they approached the barn, the Professor whispered to me--

"There is nothing to regret. If I can get these boys into the County Hospital before to-morrow morning, I shall have done a splendid night's work. Pick me out a decently mannered horse."

After the Professor had administered the first dose of alcohol, his patients lay quiet for at least three minutes. Then Jimmie said dolefully--

"Badly as she's treated me, I'd like to kiss my Edna good-bye."

In the silence that followed Pete's rather rasping voice was heard--

"I ain't got no best girl!"

"Ye're in luck," groaned Dan. "This may break pore Mame's heart. When I'm gone, she'll remember that onst I was the greatest thing on this green earth to her."

Presently Pete remarked: "Surgeon an' pathologist is the Perfessor."

"Meanin'?"

"Like as not he'll operate."

"Operate?"

"Cut us open, you derned fool!"

Dan retorted savagely: "Now ye're so near yer end, I'd go easy with sech talk, if I was you."

"I beg yer pardon," said Pete, "but I'm scairt of the Perfessor's eye.

Anyways, sink or swim, I'll hev no man gittin' his knife into me."

Dan sat up.

"Boys," he said emphatically, "you kin do as you please, but I'm goin'

to hev a las' kind word with my Mame."

He slipped out of his bunk.

"Me too," said Jimmie. He glanced at Pete, who lay still. "My regards to the Perfessor, and tell him that he'll find us at old man Greiffenhagen's. I'll hev one more taste of happiness before I die."

Dan hauled out his battered trunk and opened it. Pete sat up.

"Talkin' o' tasting, so will I," said he. "Give me that ther demijohn.

I'll die like the Dook o' Clarence."