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Page 59
"He sure was," assented Slim.
"Get up there. I want to sweep under that chair." Polly brushed
Slim's feet with the broom vigorously. With an elaborate "Excuse
me," Slim arose, but re-seated himself in another chair directly
in the pathway of Polly's broom.
"Get out of there, too," she cried.
"Shucks, there ain't any room for me nowhere," he muttered
disgustedly.
"You shouldn't take up so much of it."
Slim attempted to take a seat on the small gilt chair which was
Jack's wedding-present to Echo.
Polly caught sight of him in time. "Look out," she shouted.
"That chair wasn't built for a full-grown man like you."
Slim nervously replaced the chair before a writing-desk. Polly
wielded her broom about the feet of the Sheriff, who danced
clumsily about, trying to avoid her.
"You're just trying to sweep me out of here," he complained.
"Well, if you will bring dust in with you, you must expect to be
swept out," Polly replied, with a show of spirit.
Polly was shaking the mat vigorously at the door when Slim said:
"I see they buried Poker Bill this mornin'."
"Is HE dead?" It was the first Polly had heard of the passing
away of one of the characters of the Territory. She had
expressed her surprise in the of an interrogation, emphasizing
the "he," a colloquialism of the Southwest.
Slim, however, had chosen to ignore the manner of speech, and
with a grin answered: "Ye-es, that's why they buried him."
Polly laughed in spite of herself. "What did he die of?" she
asked.
As Slim was about to take a drink at the olla, he failed to hear
her.
"Eh?" he grunted.
"What did he die of?" she repeated.
"Five aces," was the sober reply of the Sheriff, before he
drained the gourd.
Polly put the broom back of the door, and was rearranging the
articles on the table, before Slim could muster up enough courage
to speak on the topic which was always uppermost in his mind when
in her presence.
"Say, Miss Polly," he began.
"If you've anything to say to me, Slim Hoover, just say it--I
can't be bothered to-day--all the fixin's and things," saucily
advised the girl.
"Well, what I want to say is--" began the Sheriff.
At this moment Bud Lane, laboring under heavy excitement, burst
open the door.
"Say, Slim, you're wanted down at the corral," he cried, paying
no heed to Polly.
"Shucks!" exclaimed the disappointed Sheriff. "What's the row?"
"I don't know--Buck McKee--he's there with some of the Lazy K
outfit. They want to see you."
Slim threw himself out the door with the mild expletive: "Darn
the luck!"
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