"Where's the drive, Hank?" he asked the liveryman.
"Search me!" was his reply; "somewhere down river. Old Murdock is up
talkin' wild about damage suits, and there's evidently been one hell of
a row, but I just got back myself from drivin' a drummer over to
Watsonville."
"Know if Darrell is in town?"
"Oh, _he's_ in town; there ain't no manner of doubt as to that."
"Drunk, eh?"
"Spifflicated, pie-eyed, loaded, soshed," agreed the liveryman
succinctly.
Welton shook his head humorously and ruefully.
"Say, Welton," demanded the liveryman with the easy familiarity of his
class, "why in blazes do you put a plain drunk like that in charge?"
"Darrell is a good man on a big job," said Welton; "you can't beat him,
and you can't get him to take a drink. But it takes a big job to steady
him."
"Well, I'd fire him," stated Hank positively.
"He's already fired," spoke up a hostler, "they laid him off two days
ago when he went down drunk and tried to take charge."
"Well, now," chuckled Welton, as he gathered up the reins, "who'd have
thought old Larsen could scare up the spunk!"
He drove down the river road.
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