Chip, thinking of the morrow's drive, groaned in real anguish of spirit.

"You won't dast t' roll a cigarette comin' home, Chip," predicted Happy
Jack, mournfully. "Yuh want t' smoke double goin' in."

"I don't THINK I'll smoke double going in," returned Chip, dryly. "If
the old girl don't like my style, why the walking isn't all taken up."

"Say, Chip," suggested Jack Bates, "you size her up at the depot, and,
if she don't look promising, just slack the lines on Antelope Hill.
The creams 'll do the rest. If they don't, we'll finish the job here."

Shorty tactfully pushed back his chair and rose. "You fellows don't
want to git too gay," he warned. "The Old Man's just beginning to
forget about the calf-shed deal." Then he went out and shut the door
after him. The boys liked Shorty; he believed in the old adage about
wisdom being bliss at certain times, and the boys were all the better
for his living up to his belief. He knew the Happy Family would stop
inside the limit--at least, they always had, so far.

"What's the game?" demanded Cal, when the door closed behind their
indulgent foreman.

"Why, it's this. (Pass the syrup, Happy.) T'morrow's Sunday, so
we'll have time t' burn. We'll dig up all the guns we can find, and
catch up the orneriest cayuses in our strings, and have a real, old
lynching bee--sabe?"

"Who yuh goin' t' hang?" asked Slim, apprehensively. "Yuh needn't