We'll load at Skull Valley."
Sam brought his coffee and he drank it as he stood, while the men
hurriedly departed for their horses. Patches, the last to go, paused a
moment, as though to speak, but Phil prevented him with a gruff order.
"Get a move on you, Patches. Those cars will be there long before we
are."
And Patches, seeing the man's face dark and drawn with pain, moved away
without a word.
"Great snakes," softly ejaculated Curly a few moments later, as Patches
stooped to take his saddle from where it lay on the ground beside
Curly's. "What do you reckon's eatin' the boss? Him an' the Dean
couldn't 'a' mixed it last night, could they? Do you reckon the Dean
crawled him about somethin'?"
Patches shook his head with a "Search me, pardner," as he turned to his
horse.
"Somethin's happened sure," muttered the other, busy with his saddle
blanket. "Sufferin' cats! but I felt like he'd poured a bucket of ice
water down my neck!" He drew the cinch tight with a vigorous jerk that
brought a grunt of protest from his mount. "That's right," he continued,
addressing the horse, "hump yourself, an' swell up and grunt, damn you;
you ought to be thankin' God that you ain't nothin' but a hoss, nohow,
with no feelin' 'cept what's in your belly.
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