it would land right-side up
on the bench--but the basin was wet and soapy and slipped. It sailed
through the door of the bunk-house and caromed off Bill Haskins's head.
Andy saw what had happened and, seizing Pete's arm, rushed him across
the clearing and into the house, where he grabbed Ma Bailey and kissed
her heartily, scrambled backward as she pretended to threaten him with
the mammoth coffee-pot, and sat down at the table with the remark that
he was "powerful tired."

"You act like it," scoffed Mrs. Bailey.

Bill Haskins, with a face like black thunder, clumped in and asked Mrs.
Bailey if she had any "stickin'-plaster."

"Cut you, Bill?"

"Bad!" said Bill, exhibiting a cut above the ear--the result of Andy's
basin-throwing.

"Oh, you go 'long!" said Mrs. Bailey, pushing him away. "Askin' for
stickin'-plaster for a scratch like that!"

Bill Haskins growled and grumbled as he took his place at the table.
He kept shaking his head like a dog with a sore ear, vowing that if he
found out "who thrun that basin" there would be an empty chair at the
Concho board before many days had passed.

Andy White glanced at Pete and snickered. Bill Haskins glowered and
felt of his head. "Liked to skelp me," he asserted. "Ma, I jest ask
you what you would do now, if you was settin' peaceful in the
bunk-house pawin' over your war-bag, lookin' for a clean shirt, and all
of a sudden _whing_! along comes a warsh-basin and takes you right over
the ear. Wouldn't you feel like killin' somebody?"

"Lookin' for a clean shirt!" whispered Andy to Pete. "Did you git
that?"

Bill "got" it--and flushed amazingly. "I was meanin' a clean--clean
dress, Mrs. Bailey. A clean dress or stockin's, mebby."

"Bill was lookin' for a clean dress," snickered Andy. Pete grinned.

"Bill, I reckon it ain't your ear that needs that sticking-plaster. A
clean shirt, indeed! I'm surprised at you, William."

"Gee, Ma called him Willum!" whispered Andy. "Bill better fade."

The men tramped in, nodded to Mrs. Bailey, and sat down. Eating was a
serious matter with them. They said little. It was toward the end of
the meal, during a lull in the clatter of knives and forks, that Andy
White suggested, _sotto voce_, but intended for the assemblage, "That
Bill always was scared of a wash-basin." This gentle innuendo was lost
on the men, but Bill Haskins vowed mighty vengeance.

It was evident from the start that Pete and Andy would run in doubl