"Th' short 'un," said Tucker wonderingly. "W'y?"
"Anythin' happen to yu' on th' trail?" inquired his interlocutor.
The old man hesitated a moment. "_Ja!_ Did 'ave a bit of a shindig," he admitted shamefacedly.
"_Ja_," said the Sergeant. "I thought so; an' now I'll tell yu' what happened. Yu' was _dronk_ an' let yore lines catch under th' end o' th' _disselboom_, an' yore team up an' run away on yu'. Managed to pull 'em up, somehow, I suppose. Providence always seems to hand out a special dispensation to fellers that's full, else more'n likely it's th' hospital _yu'd_ be in instead o' that chair."
"Well, I pulled _die schelms_, anyway," said the other. "An' I 'ad to go back abaht 'arf a mile fer a bag o' chicken feed as fell aht."
"_Ja!_ ... an' a bag o' blasted nails yu' had aboard fell aht wiv' it," mimicked Ellis, irritably. "An' my hawss picked one of 'em up in his nigh-fore an' he's been out o' business ever since."
The old man, fumbling with trembling fingers about his waistcoat, produced a short day pipe and, filling it, proceeded to smoke.
"If yu' don't let up on th' _dop_ for a space," resumed the policeman severely, "yu'll be havin' fancies again--bad 'uns, too."
The abandoned Tucker cocked a boiled eye at his would-be mentor.
"Tchkk!" he clucked testily. "Rats ... an' sech like. I've 'ad 'em.... Yer cawn't skeer me wiv yer _fancies_," he shrilled suddenly, with senile defiance. "'Ow abaht _you_? 'Tis an Aberdeen man's 'Say w'en!' yer poured aht fer yourself, I noticed--an' then yer turns rahnd an' torks ter me like a bloomin' _unfundusi_. _Whau!_ I _korner fancies_!" he wound up bitterly.
The Sergeant swallowed the home-thrust with a tolerant grin.
"Ain't figurin' on practisin' what I preach just yet," he rejoined.
"I'm a pore old feller," whimpered Tucker, dropping his pipe and beginning to weep with maudlin self-pity. "Yer all tries to 'come it' over me."
The gray beard jerked up and down convulsively with his sobs.
"Aw, h--l! come, now," said Benton, not unkindly. "Yu' bring a lot o' yore troubles on yoreself. Why, don't yu' sell out here, Dad, an' go back East to yore son there, where yu'd be looked after properly? Yu're too old to be livin' here on yore lonesome like this."