He tried—­or started to try—­holding out at Rusty Brown’s till she gave up in despair; but it occurred to him that Chip had asked him to hurry back.  Andy groaned again, and got the team.

She did not wait for him to drive around to the hotel for her; possibly she suspected his intentions.  At any rate, she came nipping down the street toward the stable just as he was hooking the last trace, and she was all ready and had a load of bags and bundles.

“I’m not going to begin by making trouble for you,” she twittered.  “I thought I could just as well come down here to the wagon as have you drive back to the hotel.  And my trunk did not come on the train with me, so I’m all ready.”

Andy, having nothing in mind that he dared say to a lady, helped her into the wagon.

At sundown or thereabouts—­for the days were short and he had a load of various things besides care—­Andy let himself wearily into the bunk-house where was assembled the Happy Family.  He merely grunted when they spoke to him, and threw himself heavily down upon his bunk.

“For Heaven’s sake, somebody roll me a cigarette!  I’m too wore out to do a thing, and I haven’t had a smoke since dinner,” he groaned, after a minute.

“Sick?” asked Pink solicitously.

“Sick as a dog! water, water!” moaned Andy.  All at once he rolled over upon his face and shook with laughter more than a little hysterical, and to the questioning of the Happy Family gave no answer but howls.  The Happy Family began to look at one another uneasily.

“Aw, let up!” Happy Jack bellowed.  “You give a man the creeps just to listen at yuh.”

“I’m going to empty the water-bucket over yuh in a minute,” Pink threatened, “Go get it, Cal; it’s half full.”

Andy knew well the metal of which the Happy Family was made, and the night was cool for a ducking.  He rolled back so that they could see his face, and struggled for calm.  In a minute he sat up and merely gurgled.

“Well, say, I had to do something or die,” he explained, gasping.  “I’ve gone through a heap, the last few hours, and I was right where I couldn’t do a thing.  By gracious, I struck the ranch about as near bug-house as a man can get and recover.  Where’s a cigarette?”

“What you’ve gone through—­and I don’t give a cuss what it is—­ain’t a marker for what’s going to happen if yuh don’t loosen up on the history,” said Jack Bates firmly.

Andy smoked hungrily while he surveyed the lot.  “How calm and innocent yuh all look,” he observed musingly, “with your hats on and saying words that’s rude, and smoking the vile weed regardless, never dreaming what’s going to drop, pretty soon quick.  Yuh make me think of a hymn-song my step-mother used to sing a lot, about ’They dreamed not of danger, those sinners of old, whom—­”

“Hand me the water bucket,” directed Pink musically.