Strong,
rugged, and used to activity, they could not be quiet long. Mrs.
Bailey hitched a chair close to Pete and had learned much of his early
history--for Pete felt that the least he could do was to answer her
kindly questions--and he, in turn, had been feeling quite at home in
her evident sympathy, when an unearthly yell shattered the quiet of the
summer evening. More yells--and a voice from the darkness stated that
some one was hurt bad; to bring a light. Groans, heartrending and
hoarse, punctuated the succeeding silence. "It's Jim," the voice
asserted. "Guess his leg's bruk."
The groaning continued. Mrs. Bailey rose and seized the lamp. Pete
got up stiffly and followed her out. One of the men was down on all
fours, jumping about in ludicrous imitation of a bucking horse; and
another was astride him, beating him not too gently with a quirt. As
Ma Bailey came in sight the other cowboys swung their hats and shouted
encouragement to the rider. Bailey was not visible.
"Stay with 'im!" cried one. "Rake 'im! He's gittin' played out! Look
out! He's goin' to sunfish! Bust 'im wide open!"
It was a huge parody of the afternoon performance, staged for Ma
Bailey's special benefit.
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