CHAPTER XIX. WHEN THE CLOUDS PLAYED WOLF
The Indian woman was restless; she had been so from the time they had lost sight of the town, but her restlessness had increased as the daylight faded and night fell.
“ You’re goin’ to bust this seat in if you don’t quit jammin’ around,” Meeteetse Ed warned her peevishly.
Meeteetse was irritable, a state due largely to the waning exhilaration of a short and unsatisfactory spree.
The woman clucked at the horses, and, to the great annoyance of her driver, reached for the reins and slapped them on the back.
“ They’re about played out,” he growled. “Forty miles is a awful trip for these buzzard-heads to make in a day. We orter have put up some’eres overnight.”
“ I could have stayed with Little Coyote’s woman.”
“ We orter have done it, too.
