I 'm goin' to clean house in about two minutes, an' fire you all out in th' street!"
Jimmy smiled down at him. "Well, you need n't be so sweepin' an' extensive in yore cleanin' operations," he retorted. "All you gotta do is go outside an' roll in th' dust like a chicken." The crowd roared its appreciation and the sleepy individual turned over again, growling sweeping opinions.
"But if them Injuns are comin' I shore wish they 'd hurry up an' do it," asserted Dad. "I ought to 'a' been home three days ago."
"Wish to G—d you was!" came from the floor.
Bill tossed away his half-smoked cigarette, Carter promptly plunging into the sugar barrel after it. "They ain't comin'," Bill asserted. "Every time some drunk Injun gets in a fight or beats his squaw th' rumor starts. An' by th' time it gets to us it says that all th' Apaches are out follerin' old Geronimo on th' war trail. He can be more places at once than anybody I ever heard of. I 'm ridin' on tomorrow morning, 'Paches or no 'Paches."
