"Thirty-one--first blood," remarked the sheriff, dropping the deuce.

While he pegged his points Blake suddenly laughed.

"Say, Jim," he said, "before I forget it I want to tell you a joke on Humble. He thought it would be easy money if he taught Lee Lung how to play poker. He bothered Lee's life out of him for several days, and finally the Chinaman consented to learn the great American game."

Blake played a six and the sheriff scored two by pairing, whereupon his opponent made it threes for six, and took a point for the last card.

"As I was saying, Humble wanted the cook to learn poker. Lee's face was as blank as a cow's, and Humble had to explain everything several times before the cook seemed to understand what he was driving at. Anybody would have thought he had been brought up in a monastery and that he didn't know a card from an army mule."

Blake pegged his seven points and picked up his cards without breaking the story.

"But Lee had awful luck, and in half an hour he owned half of Humble's next month's pay. Now, every time he gets a chance he shows Humble the cards and asks for a game. 'Nicee game, ploker, nicee game,' he'll say.

What Humble says is pertinent, profane and permeating. Then the boys guy him to a finish. He'll be wanting to teach Lee how to play fan-tan some day, so the boys say. Lee must have graduated in poker before Humble ever heard of the game."

Shields laughed heartily and swiftly ran over his cards.

"Fifteen two, four, six, a pair is eight, and a double run of three is fourteen. Real good," he said as he pegged. "Pa.s.sed the crack that time.

What have you got?"

The foreman put his cards down, found three sixes and then turned the crib face up. "Pair of tens and His Highness," he grumbled. "Only three in that crib!"

"That's what you get for cutting a three," laughed the sheriff.

The game continued until the striking of the clock startled the guest.

"Midnight!" he cried. "Thirty miles before I get to bed--no, no, I can't stay with you to-night --much obliged, all the same."

He clapped his sombrero on his head and started for the door: "Well, better luck next time, Jim--three twenty-four hands sh.o.r.e did make a difference. Right where they were needed, too. So long."

"Sorry you won't stay, Tom," called his friend from the door as the foreman mounted. "You might just as well, you know."

"I'm sorry, too, but I've got to be on hand to-morrow--anyway, it's bright moonlight--so long!" he cried as he cantered away.

"Hey, Tom!" cried the sheriff, leaping from the porch and running to the gate. "Tom!"

"Hullo, what is it?" asked the foreman, drawing rein and returning.

"Smoke this on your way, it'll seem shorter," said the sheriff, holding out a cigar.

"By George, I will!" laughed Blake. "That's fine, you're all right!"

"Be good," cried the sheriff, watching his friend ride down the street.

"Sh.o.r.e enough good--I have to be," floated back to his ears.

CHAPTER XVI

THE FLYING-MARE

The Sunday morning following Blake's visit to Ford's Station found the Star C in excitement. Notwithstanding the fact that on every pleasant night after the day's work had been done it was the custom for the outfit to indulge in a swim, and that Sat.u.r.day night had been very pleasant, the Limping Water was being violently disturbed, and laughter and splashing greeted the sun as it looked over the rim of the bank. Cakes of soap glistened on the sand on the west bank and towels hung from convenient limbs of the bushes which fringed the creek.

Silent, who was noted among his companions for the length of time he could stay under water, challenged them to a submersion test. The rules were simple, inasmuch as they consisted in all plunging under at the same time, the winner being he who was the last man up. Silent had steadfastly refused to have his endurance timed, which his friends mistook for modesty, and no sooner had all "ducked under" than his head popped up--but this time he was not alone. Humble, whose utmost limit was not over half a minute, grew angry at his inability to make a good showing and craftily determined to take a handicap. The two stared at each other for a s.p.a.ce and then burst into laughter, forgetting for the time being what they should do. Other heads bobbed up, and the secret was out. Only that Silent was the best swimmer in the crowd saved him from a ducking, and as it was he had to grab his clothes and run.

After being a.s.sured that he was forgiven for his trickery he rejoined his friends and his towel.

More fun was now the rule, for dressing required care. The sandy west bank sloped gradually to the water's edge, and it was necessary to stand on one foot on a small stone in the water while the other was dipped to remove the sand. Still on one foot the other must be dried, the stocking put on, then the trouser leg and lastly the boot, and woe to the man who lost his balance and splashed stocking and trouser leg as he wildly sought to save it! Humble splashed while his foot was only half-way through the trouser leg, and The Orphan fared even worse. Then a race of awkward runners was on toward the bunk house, where breakfast was annihilated.

"Hey, Tom, what time do we leave?" asked Bud for the fifth time.

"Nine o'clock, you chump," replied the foreman.

"Three whole hours yet," grumbled Jim as he again plastered his hair to his head.

"I'll lose my appet.i.te sh.o.r.e," worried Humble. "We got up too blamed early, that's what we did."

"Why, here's Humble!" cried Silent in mock surprise. "Do _you_ like apricot pie, and gingerbread and _real_ coffee?"

"You go to the devil," grumbled Humble. "You wouldn't 'a' been asked at all, only she couldn't very well cut you out of it when she asked me along. _I_'m the one she really wants to feed; you fellers just happen to tag on behind, that's all."

"Going to take Lightning with you, Humble?" asked Docile, winking at the others.

"Why, I sh.o.r.e am," replied Humble in surprise. "Do you reckon I'd leave him and that d-----d c.h.i.n.k all alone together, you sheep?"

"I was afraid you wouldn't," pessimistically grumbled Docile, but here he smiled hopefully. "Suppose you take Lee Lung and leave the dog here?"

he queried.

"Suppose you quit supposing with your feet!" sarcastically countered Humble. "I know you ain't got much brains, but you might exercise what little you have got once in a while. It won't hurt you none after you get used to it."

"How are you going to carry him, Humble--like a papoose?" queried Joe with a great show of interest.

Humble stared at him: "Huh!" he muttered, being too much astonished to say more.

"I asked you how you are going to carry your fighting wolfhound," Joe said without the quiver of an eyelash. "I thought mebby you was going to sling him on your back like a papoose."

"Carry him! Papoose!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Humble in withering irony. "What do you reckon his legs are for? He ain't no statue, he ain't no ornament, he's a dog."

"Well, I knowed he ain't no ornament, but I wasn't sh.o.r.e about the rest of it," responded Joe. "I only wanted to know how he'd get to town. There ain't no crime in asking about that, is there? I know he can't follow the gait we'll hit up for thirty miles, so I just naturally asked, _sabe?"_

"Oh, you did, did you!" cried Humble, not at all humbly. "He can't follow us, can't he?" he yelled belligerently.

"He sh.o.r.e can't, cross my heart," a.s.serted Silent in great earnestness.

"If he runs to Ford's Station after us and gets there inside of two days I'll buy him a collar. That goes."

"Huh!" snorted Humble in disgust, "he won't wear your old collar after he wins it. He's got too much pride to wear anything you'll give him."