Part 9 (2/2)
”Let me try rubbin' your brow,” sez Horace, whose eyes were blinkin'
for sleep, but whose face was all screwed up into lines of worry at what was goin' to happen to him after he had finally give in an'
drifted off.
”Well,” sez Tank, ”I'll let you try; but if you're already sleepy, I doubt if any good comes of it. You sit there at the head o' the bed, an' I'll lay my head in your lap, an' you rub my brow soft an' gentle.
If I do get to sleepin' natural, why o' course the' won't be no harm done in you takin' a few winks; but for the love o' peace, don't sleep sound.”
I blame near choked while they were gettin' settled, 'cause Horace was one o' those finicky cusses, an' Tank's head looked like a moth-eaten buffalo robe. Finally, however, Tank stretched out with the covers up around his neck an' his head pillowed in Horace's lap, and then Horace began to rub his brow as soft an' gentle as he knew how.
”You don't do it clingy enough,” sez Tank. ”You want to just rest your fingers lightly, but still have 'em draw along so 'at they'll give a little tingle. There, that's better. Now then, I'll lay as quiet as I can, an' try to go to sleep.” Tank was doin' such an earnest job, he had plumb fooled himself into believin' it was mostly true.
He gave a start after layin' quiet for five or ten minutes, an' this put Horace on edge again; but Tank didn't wake up. Horace had a saddle blanket around his shoulders; and the last I saw just before I fell asleep, myself, was Horace gently rubbin' Tank's brow, an' lookin'
down careful for a change of expression. They made a curious sight with the firelight back of 'em.
It was grayin' up for the dawn next time I woke up; and I'd had my sleep out, but when I stuck my nose out from under the tarp, I found it purty tol'able frosty. I knew it was my duty to roust out an' keep Horace from gettin' more sleep 'n my treatment for his nerves called for; but I was too comfortable, to pay much heed to the still, small voice of duty. At the same time I was curious to see what my boon comrades was up to, so I stretched my neck an' took a look at 'em.
Horace had keeled over so that his elbow rested on Tank's chest an'
his head rested on his hand; but the other hand was still on Tank's brow, an' I reckon Horace must have rubbed until he didn't care whether it was sleep or death he drew, just so he got rid o' keepin'
awake. Tank had reached up one hand so it circled Horace's waist; and they made the most lovable group a body ever see.
While I was still watchin' 'em, Horace's arm gave out, an' he settled down on top o' Tank's nose. In about two minutes Tank came to with a jump, an' heaved Horace to the foot of the bed. Tank was really startled, an' he came to his feet glarin'. ”You blame little squab, you!” he yelled. ”What are you tryin' to do-smother me?”
Horace staggered to his feet, but he couldn't get his eyes open more 'n a narrow slit. ”I didn't do it on purpose, Mr. Williams,” he blubbled like a drunk man. ”I rubbed until I thought my hand would fall off at the wrist; but I reckon I must 'a' dropped asleep. Lie down again, an' I'll rub you some more.”
”Too late,” sez Tank, ”too late, too late. I never can sleep while daylight's burnin'; but still, my nerves don't get so dangerous until after nightfall; so we'll just turn to an' get breakfast.”
Well, I got up after yawnin' a few times; and after askin' if they had had a restful night, I started to get breakfast. Horace staggered about, gettin' wood an' water an' doin' what he was able to, while Tank wrangled in the hosses.
After breakfast, which I must say for Horace, he et in able shape, we started to saddle up, puttin' the spare saddle on the hoss I had rode the day before. ”Which one o' you is goin' back after the other buckboard?” asked Horace.
”Why, we ain't goin' back at all,” sez I. ”It's full fifty miles, an'
we can't keep switchin' buckboards every day on a trip like this.
We'll just ride the ponies the rest o' the way.”
”Ride?” sez Horace. ”Ride!”
CHAPTER NINE
TREATING THE CASE
Horace started to enlarge on how much he didn't know about ridin'; but Tank breaks in with a plea for his nerves. ”Look here,” he said, scowlin' at Horace with his good eye, while the free one rove around wild in his face, ”your nerves are a little out o' fix, an' mine is plumb tied into knots. This here outin' will be the best thing we can do for ourselves, an' you got to come along. No matter which way you go, you got to ride; so the' ain't no sense in makin' a fuss about it.
We'll mount you up on as gentle a cayuse as the' is in the West; an'
we won't tell no one if you hang on to the saddle horn goin' down hill.”
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