Ranch Life 97 



However, I was sensible that the men outside were 

 not going to shoot first, so I sat still and waited. 

 Suddenly the King's mood changed. He called to 

 one of the men outside, the brother of the foreman : 

 " Say, Charlie, — I 'm cold. Bring me my coat ; it 

 hangs in the kitchen." 



Now drunken men are sometimes as subtle as the 

 serpent, and I decided that if I were Charlie, I 

 should remain outside, and not play the valet, even 

 to a king. Charlie, it seems, was not of my opinion, 

 for he said quite naturally : " That 's all right : I '11 

 get your coat." And in less than a minute he was 

 standing in the open door with the coat in his hand. 

 It was a plucky thing to do. The King eyed Charlie, 

 and Charlie eyed the King. There was a light in 

 Charlie's keen grey eyes that was not to be mistaken 

 by a sober man. 



" Give it to me," commanded the King. 



Charlie held out the coat. The King, with an 

 eye cocked at the door opposite, advanced to take it. 



" No funny business," growled his Majesty. " If 

 your brother sticks his ugly head into that door, I '11 

 shoot you deader 'n mutton." 



Charlie — as it proved afterward — had persuaded 

 the others not to interfere. He wanted to play " a 

 lone hand." As the King put forth an arm for his 

 coat, the other jumped like a cat at the rifle — and 

 we jumped too, and everybody else jumped, till 

 there was a big heap of men in the middle of the 

 floor, and at the bottom of the heap the King. 

 Presently we disentangled ourselves, and nobody 

 was left on the floor save he who was no longer 

 King, and the boss. 



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