them with velvet firmness to lay their so large six-shooters in the woodbox until such time as he, the floor-manager, should, with so great regret, see them depart.
The cowboys' looked at one another uncertainly, suspicion written on each face.
"I feels kind of necked without my gun," demurred Joe Brindell.
"Naked!" declared the cook, "'tain't modest, I says."
The floor-manager waited politely, but resolutely.
"We might as well humor the little cuss," whispered Kansas Ed. "We kin git 'em quick if any ruckus starts."
Consequently the six-shooters were unstrapped and stacked reluctantly in the woodbox.
"I feel about as safe as rompin' with a bunch of hyeners," grumbled Joe Brindell, who was not the least conspicuous person present in his pink shirt and a flaming red handkerchief draped jauntily about his neck.
The thanks of Ignacio Bojarques held much gratitude as, after having given each newcomer a number, he turned away.
