TOM LOCKS THE STABLE DOOR 



of our broncos out and tie it behind the haystack 

 to make room for your pack-mule, BilL" 



"Don't you do anything of the kind, Peck," 

 repHed the scout. "That's one of Uncle Sam's 

 mules, an' he'll do well enough tied in the lee of 

 your haystack; in fact, it wouldn't hurt our horses 

 much, either, to stand out." 



While Bill, Adkins, and I had been watering, 

 feeding, and putting away the stock. Jack had 

 been getting supper, and now stepped to the door 

 of the dugout with his fiddle and sounded "mess 

 call," to see if the scout would know what it 

 meant. 



"That sounds pretty natural," said Bill to me, 

 "let's go in an' see what he's got to show for it, 

 for I'm as hungry as a coyote." 



As we gathered around the mess-chest I in- 

 quired: 



"When do they expect the volunteers that are 

 coming to relieve the regulars?" 



"Don't know a thing, only that they're on the 

 road somewhere 'tween here an' Leavenworth. 

 Now, if they were regulars you could calculate to 

 the hour when they'd get here, for when they get 

 orders to go anywhere neither hell nor high water'll 

 stop 'em; but if a little bad weather strikes these 

 volunteers, an' they can find a snug camping 

 place, they're Kable to hang up for a week or two, 

 an' put in the time stealing chickens an' playing 

 cards." 



189 



