We can't do nuthin', I know, but mebbe
it'll please the old man an' his daughter to know that we ain't fergotten
the brave little boy. An' come to think further it's no mor'n our duty.
That lad saved one of us from death, an' the one that was saved, saved me.
Boys, ye can do as yez like, but I'm goin' anyway."
There was no hesitation now among these men. With one accord they turned
their backs upon the village, and struck along the road leading out into
the country. Old Ned, the saloon-keeper, watched them in amazement. Never
before had they done such a thing. What would become of all the whisky in
those bottles standing on the shelves?
"The idiots!" he yelled. "What's the matter with 'em?"
Bareheaded he rushed out into the street and lifted up his voice.
"Hi! hi!" he shouted.
The drivers paused and looked around.
"Wait!" panted Ned running up to where they were standing.
"What's wrong, old man?" questioned one.
"Wrong! What's wrong with you? Why are ye leavin' without droppin' in to
see me? Surely ye ain't goin' to go away without a friendly call?"
"Look here, Ned," replied Jake, acting as spokesman for the others, "we've
made too many friendly calls at your place fer our own good.
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