distance, faint and fainter, then, like a breath, gone.
Uncle Pasco's trinkets had audibly raised the men's spirits. They remained in the bunkhouse, their laughter reaching Drake and Bolles more and more. Sometimes they would scuffle and laugh loudly.
'Do you imagine it's more leap-frog?' inquired the school-master.
'Gambling,' said Drake. 'They'll keep at it now till one of them wins everything the rest have bought.'
'Have they been lively ever since morning?'
'Had a reaction about noon,' said Drake. 'Regular home-sick spell. I felt sorry for 'em.'
'They seem full of reaction,' said Bolles. 'Listen to that!'
It was now near four o'clock, and Sam came in, announcing dinner.
'All ready,' said the smiling Chinaman.
'Pass the good word to the bunk-house,' said Drake, 'if they can hear you.'
Sam went across, and the shouting stopped. Then arose a thick volley of screams and cheers.
'That don't sound right,' said Drake, leaping to his feet. In the next instant the Chinaman, terrified, returned through the open door. Behind him lurched Half-past Full, and stumbled into the room. His boot caught, and he pitched, but saved himself and stood swaying, heavily looking at Drake. The hair curled dense over his bull head, his mustache was spread with his grin, the light of cloddish humor and destruction burned in his big eye. The clay had buried the spirit like a caving pit.
'Twas false jewelry all right!' he roared, at the top of his voice. 'A good old jimmyjohn full, boss. Say, boss, goin' to run our jimmyjohn off the ranch? Try it on, kid. Come over and try it on!' The bull beat on the table.
Dean Drake had sat quickly down in his chair, his gray eye upon the hulking buccaroo. Small and dauntless he sat, a sparrow-hawk caught in a trap, and game to the end—whatever end.
'It's a trifle tardy to outline any policy about your demijohn,' said he, seriously. 'You folks had better come in and eat before you're beyond appreciating.'
'Ho, we'll eat your grub, boss. Sam's cooking goes.' The buccaroo lurched out and away to the bunk-house, where new bellowing was set up.
'I've got to carve this turkey, friend,' said the boy to Bolles.
'I'll do my best to help eat it,' returned the school-master, smiling.
'Misser Dlake,' said poor Sam, 'I solly you. I velly solly you.'
IV
'Reserve your sorrow, Sam,' said Dean Drake. 'Give us your soup for a starter. Come,' he said to Bolles. 'Quick.'
He went into the dining-room, prompt in his seat at the head of the table, with the school-master next to him.
'Nice man, Uncle Pasco,' he continued. 'But his time is not now. We have nothing to do for the present but sit like every day and act perfectly natural.'
'I have known simpler tasks,' said Mr. Bolles, 'but I'll begin by spreading this excellently clean napkin.'
'You're no schoolmarm!' exclaimed Drake; 'you please me.'
