Introductory material (continued 3)

Well, they had kept these two at boys' jobs an' boys' wages, an' when I offered 'em the position of deputy watchmen, they fair jumped at it. Said Local Color, "It will be a golden opportunity to perpetuate the seething thoughts which crowd upon my brain." Said Hamlet, "I thank thee, sir, for this, thy proposition fair. In sooth I'll try the cold-air cure, and in the majesty of prime-evil silence, I shall make the snow-capped mountains echo to the wonderful rhapsodies of Shakespeare." Well, the' was a super-abundance of cold air an' prime-evil silence an' snow-capped mountains, an' I didn't care a hang what he did to 'em, so long as it kept me from gettin' everlastin' sick o' my own company.

I never see any company yet 'at wasn't a shade better'n just my own. I knew I could stand these two innocents for four months, an' if they got violent I could rope an' tie 'em. When everybody begun to get ready to pull out, I took the twenty-mule team down to town to get our needin's. I took the children along with me, an' I sez to 'em, "Now, boys, no drinkin' goes up above through the winter. We simply have to go out an' get disgusted with it before we start back."

Well, we sure had a work-out. On the sixth day Hamlet, he throws his arm around my neck an' busts out cryin' an' sez, "Happy, it is the inflexible destiny o' the human race to weary of all things mortal, an' I'm dog-tired o' bein' drunk—an' 'sides, I'm busted."

It turned out that he didn't have any advantage over me an' Locals in this respect, so we went to the company store an' got three bushels o' nickle libraries, enough grub to do six men six months, enough tobacco to do twelve men a car, an' a little yeller pup 'at we give six bits for. I didn't 'low to run any risks this deal.

When we got back 'most everybody had pulled out, an' the roads was beginnin' to choke up. Slocum an' the two capitalists was there waitin' for us, but when all their stuff was loaded on the wagon the' wasn't room for the men; so Miller, the youngest capitalist, who was a bit of a highroller, an' had been shakin' up the coast off an' on, he took off four trunks, an' sez to me, "Happy, if you run out of clothes, here's four trunks-full." Then they hopped on the wagon an' left us alone in our glory.

I reckon, take it all in all, that was about the most florid winter I ever put in, an' it purt' nigh spoilt me for hard work. I did the cookin', the innocents did the chores, an' we got along as bully as a fat bear for a while, livin' in the hotel. The' was a hundred rooms, but we didn't use 'em all. Locals, he wrote most of the time, when he wasn't lookin' at the ceiling an' tryin' to think. Hammy, he walked barefoot in the snow, on' hollered at the snow-capped mountains. I read nickle libraries, an' we didn't care a dang for the Czar of Russia, until along toward Christmas a spark lit in my pile of litachure, an' doggone near burned the hotel down. Then we began to feel snowed-in. Locals had writ himself dry, Hammy was tired of listenin' to himself, besides havin' chilblains up to his knees, an' I was half crazy, 'count of havin' nothing to read. We didn't have a nickle between us, so we couldn't gamble, an' I resigned my mind that when spring climbed up the trail the 'd be two corpses an' one maniac in that cussed hotel.

One day Hammy came stalkin' in to where me an' Locals was playin' guess. Guess ain't never apt to be a popular pastime 'cause it has to be played without any kind o' cheatin' whatever. The one who is it, guesses what the other one is thinkin' of, an' if he guesses before he falls asleep, he wins. Well, Hammy, he breaks in on our game just the same as if we hadn't been doin' anything at all, an' I knew by his action that the' was somethin' afoot. Whenever Hammy was ready to speak something, he always walked like a hoss 'at was string-haltered in all four legs. Well, he paraded up to us that day, hip action, knee action, and instep action all workin', stopped in front of us, folded his arms, an' sez, "Good sirs, I have conceived a fitting fete."

"The only fate I expect is to go mad an' cut my own throat," sez Locals; but Hammy frowned an' went on in a scoldy, indignant voice. "When Wisdom speaks, Folly replies with jest; yet, having little choice of company, I needs must make the best of what I have."

Well, those two had what they called a war of wits until finally Locals hit Hammy with a chair, which was the way most o' their discussions ended; but it turned out that what Hammy was tryin' to say was that we should open the trunks, dress ourselves in the clothes, an' give a show. He said he knew parts to fit any make-ups we'd find; an' after Locals found out what it was 'at Hammy had schemed out, he joined in enthusiastic, an' said that if the' had never been a part writ to fit 'em yet, he could do it on the spot, an' he wasn't swamped with business right then anyway. "Yes," I sez, "it's a great idee, an' we'll sure draw a mammoth crowd. We'll charge 'em a library apiece an' get enough litachure to last us a hundred years."

"At best, sarcasm is out of season; at worst, the season 's out of it," sez Hammy to me: "and furthermore, good friend, in life, as on the stage, your part must be a role of actions, not of words." I used to say over the things 'at this pair made up, until I had 'em by heart, an' since then I've had a lot o' fun springin' 'em on strangers. They used to speak to me as though I was a horse, and of me as though I was part of the furniture. Hammy sez to me one day, "Me good man, you do very well with your hands, but kindly Nature designed your head merely for a hatrack."

They could say these little things right off the roll, an' it allus made me feel like a fish out o' water, somehow, but I stored 'em up in my memory, an' I've got my worth out of 'em all right.

We did open the trunks a week or so after this—and clothes! Well, say, Miller sure was the dresser. The' was fifteen hats in a little trunk built a-purpose for 'em, an' the' was all kinds of vests an' pants an' neckties 'at a feller could imagine. But best of all was a book 'at we found at the bottom of one o' the trunks. It was a hard-shelled book, an' I never took much stock in that kind. When it's my turn to read a book, a little old paper-back fits me out all right. I've been fooled on them hard-shells too often; but this here one was a hummer.

I ain't no tenderfoot when it comes to a book, but this one was sure the corkin'est I ever met up with. I had allus thought 'at "Seventeen Buckets o' Blood; or the Mormon Widder's Revenge" was about the extreme limit in books, but this here one lays over even that. It was called "Monte Cristo," an' had the darndest set o' Dago names in it ever a mortal human bein' laid eyes on. I tried to mine it out by myself at first, but pshaw, every cuss in the book had a name like an Injun town, an' the' was about as many characters in the book as the' is on the earth; so I delegated Hammy to read her out loud. This suited Hammy to the limit, an' he didn't only read her—he acted her. He'd roar an' screech an' whisper an' glare into your eyes so blame natural that a feller never used the back of his chair from start to finish, an' twice I was on the point of shootin' him, thinkin' it was real.

If you ain't never read the book it'll pay you to fling up your job an' wrastle through it. It starts out with a nice, decent young feller sailin' home to marry his steady, but all his friends turn in an' stack the cards on him, an' get him chucked into the rottenest dungeon in France. He knowed how they soak it to a feller citizen in that country, an' at first he was all for killin' himself; but after he'd studied it over ten or twelve years, he suddenly heard a queer scratchin' noise.

In that same prison was another prisoner, an Abbey. An Abbey is a kind of foreman priest. Well, this Abbey wasn't one to throw out a prayer an' then set down to wait for results, not him. He was one o' these nervous, fretty fellers what like to do their own drivin', an' he makes him a set o' minin' tools out of a tin saucepan an' a bed-castor, an' runs a level from his own cell into Eddie's—an' that was the queer, scratchin' sound that made Eddie decide not to kill himself.

By George, if I could find a prison what had an Abbey shut up in it, the' wouldn't be any way in the world to keep me out. This Abbey, he cottoned to Eddie right from the start, an' durin' the next few years they mine around in the prison till she's as holey as a Switzer cheeze; an' durin' their leisure he edicates Eddie till he knows more'n a college professor.

Then the Abbey begins to have fits, an' when all the medicine 'at he could make out of old soot an' sulphur matches an' such stuff is gone, he gives up an' tells Eddie where he has a little holler island, chuck full o' diamonds an' money an' such like plunder. Then he dies, an' Eddie gets in the sack. They chain a round shot to Eddie's feet an' hurl him off a cliff into the angry sea, an' when it comes to that part you can't hardly breathe; but Eddie kicks off the chain, rips open the sack, an' when he strikes the water he's a free man.

He swims along for a couple of days until he overtakes a smuggler, an' he climbs on board an' shows 'ern how to run their business accordin' to Hoyle. He only stays with 'em long enough to learn all their secrets, an' then he gives 'em the slip an' goes to his little holler island. He pulls off the top, an' it's all so, what the Abbey told him. Then he lifts up his hand an' he sez, sez he, "I'll be avenged!" And he sure done it.

He didn't believe in none o' your cheap little killin's. He gives 'em all the range they wanted while he was fixin' up the cards; but when he was ready to call their hands, the' was somethin' doin' every minute, an' don't you never forget it. Oh, he was a deep one. It is creepy to think of any one like him bein' turned loose on the earth, 'cause a feller might do somethin' 'at didn't suit him, an' the' wasn't no place you could hide in afterward. He kept watchin' all the while, an' nobody couldn't commit a crime nowheres on earth but what he knew of it, an' he'd go an' call the feller over to one side an' say, "Young man, you are doomed to die; but if you'll promise to do anything I want you to, I'll give the Pope, or the Emp'rer of Chinee, or whoever the main stem happened to be, a scuttle o' diamonds an' get you free—what's the word?"

Well, in a few years the' wasn't half a dozen criminals in the whole world who wasn't bound to carry out his orders, an' you can see what an outfit he had to back him up. Some of 'em he'd make his body-servants; but that wasn't no snap, you can bet, 'cause he was notionable to a degree. He'd make plans for a little party, an' he'd send one man to Siberia for a fish, an' another to Asia for a fowl, an' another to Chinee for a bird's nest—to make soup of—an' so on. He never give his guests nothin' to eat 'at growed in the same country the feast was to be give in. Then he'd say to his steward, who had the hardest job of all, "Bill"—Bill wasn't his name, but it'll do—"Bill, where did I see that six-foot vase, made out of a single ruby?"

An' Bill would turn pale an' say, "It was in the secret vault of the Em'prer of Chince, your Excellency." Then Monte Cristo, he'd say, "Ah, yes, so it was. 'Tell, go an' get it an' have it here by the twenty-fifth day of next month."

Well, Bill, he'd just about flicker out, an' begin to tell how it couldn't be did; but Xlonte, he'd only look at him cold, an' say, "Never mind the details, Bill—get the vase. If you think you need the British Navy, why, buy it, but don't bother me. It seems to me, Bill, 'at you ought to begin gittin' on to my curves purty soon. Good-bye."

This was the way he carried on. He'd go to a prison an' he'd say, "Young man, you was buried to death when you was a baby, but I figgered I could use you later on, so I had you transplanted. You come out o' this prison, get an edication, an' on the ninth o' next June you show up at number forty-nine, Rue de Champaign, Paris, at two fifteen P. M.—sharp. Here's a million francs to pay expenses. Don't be a tight-wad—the's plenty more." A franc is worth five dollars, but he didn't give a durn for 'em. That was HIS style.

He'd come to town an' buy a tenement house 'at wouldn't rent, because it was haunted; an' he'd tear it all down except the rooms 'at had been most popular to commit murder in. Then next day he'd run up a swell mansion around these rooms—big an' gorgeous, like the Capitol at Cheyenne, with full-grown trees from all over the world, standin' in the front yard. Then he 'd give a party to all the substantial citizens who had once used those rooms to commit murders in, an' he'd bring 'em face to face with the ones they thought they had murdered—an' it was comical to see 'em fallin' around in faints; but Monte, he'd pretend 'at he hadn't noticed anything unusual, an' he'd get 'em a glass of wine an' make 'em face the torture, till it gives a feller a cold sweat, just to read about it.

You might think that a man runnin' for congress in this country has a hard time sinkin' his reputation; but the way 'at Monte Cristo mined around in a feller's past was enough to scare a cat out of a cellar. They don't run things over in France like they do here; they make Counts an' Markusses an' Bankers out of the bad men, an' slap the innocent ones into dungeons to keep 'em from gettin' spoilt. But this didn't suit Monte for a minute; so when he gets the gang all settin' up in front of him like a herd o' tenpins he sez, "Let her go!" an' you ought to have seen 'em drop.

He don't do none o' the dirty work himself—no more prisons for him. He just goes around like a Sunday-school director at Christmas time, while his enemies turn to an' poison an' stab an' mutilate each other in a way to turn a butcher pale; but his favorite plan is to make 'em go insane an' have their hair turn white in a single night. That got to be his private brand.

Well, Hammy read the book to us so natural that we all slept in one bed for company; but it cheered us a heap, an' we begun to feel rich, ourselves, an' talked about millions as easy an' natural as though we each had little holler islands of our own. Miller was about my size, so 'at all his clothes fit me like the skin on a potato. Hammy was a leetle too tall an' thin, and Locals, a foot or so short; but they fished out a couple of swell outfits too.

We found a lot of empty check-books, an' used to play draw, settlin' at night by check. It was purty good fun for a while—until we woke up. Hammy owed me ten million francs an' Locals was into me for fifteen. I offered to give 'em a receipt in full if they'd give me their interest in the yeller pup. As long as the pup had three bosses he wouldn't mind no one, an' I wanted to teach him somethin' besides eatin' an' sleepin; but them two cusses wouldn't sell out at the price. When I saw that a hundred an' twenty-five million dollars wouldn't buy two-thirds of a seventy-five cent pup, I understood what the spell-binders mean by a debased currency, an' I felt hurt an' lonesome again.

One day Hammy stacked himself in front of a window an' began to talk about the gloomy ghastliness of solitude, until me an' Locals couldn't stand it no longer, an' we heaved him out into a drift. Under ordinary circumstances he would have rolled his eyes, pulled his hair, an' ranted around about the base ungratitude of man; but this time he looked up to the sky an' hollered, "Come out here quick! Hurry up! COME ON!"

We went out, an' the' was somethin' a-floatin' away up yonder, lookin' like a flyspeck on a new tablecloth. "What is it?" asked Hammy. "Is it a bird?" asked Locals. Under such conditions I never say nothin' until I have somethin' to say, so we stood an' gazed. In about ten minutes we all shouted together, "It's a balloon!"

An' by jinks, that's what it was. We hollered an' fired off guns, an' after a while it settled down an' lodged in a tree. The' was only one man in it, but he was dyked out in Sunday clothes, an' purt' nigh froze to death. We fed an' warmed him, an' he was about as much surprised at us as we was at him. I was wearin' a Prince Albert coat an' a high plug hat, Locals had on a white flannel yachtin' rig, an' Hammy was sportin' a velvet suit with yeller leggin's an' a belt around the waist. After we had fitted him out with a pipe he sez, "Gentlemen, I may possibly be able to repay you at some future time. I am Lord Arthur Cleighton, second son of the Earl o' Clarenden."

When he registered himself thus, I see Locals an' Hammy open their eyes, an' I knew 'at we had landed somethin' purty stately.

"I am pleased to meet you, me lord," sez Hammy, in his most gorgeous manner. "I am Gene De Arcy. You may have heard of my father, the multimillionaire."

Locals, he looked at Lord Arthur, an' see that Hammy's bluff had stuck, so he girded up his loins an' sez, "Sir, it gives me great pleasure to make your acquaintance. My uncle, Silas Martin, the late copper king, has just died, leavin' me as his sole heir; an' I have been seein' a bit of my own country, preparatory to a prolonged trip around the world."

Lord Arthur, he jumps to his feet an' shakes hands with 'em, tellin' 'em to just cut out his title, as he was a simple Democrat while in the United States.

I hardly knew what to do. I didn't hold openers, an' yet if I didn't draw some cards an' see it out I stood to lose entirely. I had been corralin' a heap o' city langwidge since I had been cooped up with Locals an' Hammy, but my heart failed me. I knew I was still some shy on society manners; but I also knew 'at the' was a heap o' bluffin' goin' on, so I stuck up my bet an' called.

"Artie," I sez, holdin' out my hand, "you 're the first lord my eyes has ever feasted on; but I like you—you're game. It ain't many 'at will own up to bein' a Democrat these days, not even in the secrecy of the ballot box, but here in Nevada you're safe. Pa has just retired from business, leavin' me this little mine; but it only pays about ten million a year now, so I've made up my mind not to bother with it, but to shut it down an' go on a tour of the world with my two friends here. I never cared much for school, so this will be a good way to finish my edication. We was up here last fall seein' that things was closed in proper order, an' waited for the watchman to come up from below, when we expected to drive down to our special train an' start for Paris. But the snow came unexpected, and the expected watchman failed to come; and here we are, with no food fit for a human, an' all our servants in the special train, ninety miles away."

When I begun my oration Locals and Hammy leaned forward, holdin' their breath; but when they see 'at I wasn't turnin' out no schoolboy article of a lie, they settled back with a long sigh, an' I could tell by their faces 'at they were takin' pride in my work. They was about the best qualified judges o' that kind o' work I ever met up with, an' I'll own 'at I never felt prouder in my life 'an I did when Hammy slapped me on the back as soon as I finished an' sez to Artie, "Me Lord, this is a typical American. He plans his life on larger things than rules; but you can depend on him—yea, though the heavens fall, you can depend on Jack here."

I was glad we didn't have any liquor there, or like as not we'd 'a' burned the hotel down just for a lark. We was so full of that doggone Monte Cristo book that we believed our own lies as easy as Artie did, an' begun to talk to each other like we was society folks at a banquet.

But Artie was a good, decent sort of a chap, as common as we were, when we got to know him. He never kicked none on the grub, an' his appetite was a thing to make preparations for; but, as Locals said, his high descent came out the minute he was brought face to face with work—he didn't recognize it. Now he didn't try to dodge it, nor he didn't apologize for not doing it; he just didn't seem to know the' was such a thing. It never occurred to him that the only way to have clean dishes was to wash dirty ones. Hammy and Locals, those freeborn sons of Independence, was glad an' proud to have the chance to wait on him; but I must confess that the day he sat by the fire with a pile of wood within reachin' distance, an' let the fire go out, I grew a trifle loquacious about it.

Hammy overheard me mutterin' to myself in a voice 'at could be heard anywhere in the hotel, an' he drew me to one side an' sez, "Hush, presumptuous peasant; for all you know the blood of Alfred flows within his veins."

"That ain't my fault," sez I; "but some of it will flow down this mountain side if he don't begin stayin' awake daytimes."

Still, all in all, he was a likeable young feller an' the' ain't no doubt but what he saved us from bein' lonesome any more. He said 'at this balloon had been exhibited in Los Angeles, an' he had got into it just for fun; but the rope had parted an' he had been fifteen hours on the way. It was only by luck 'at he had happened to have his overcoat along.

He had four or five newspapers, which he had tied around his feet to keep 'em warm, but nare a library; so after we had lied our imaginations sore for a week or so, we fell back on draw, settlin' by checks at night. By a dazzling piece of luck Artie had his money in the same New York bank 'at Miller had, so he could use our checks, an' things began to brighten. Three of us were playin' for real money, an' the other feller thought he was—it was genuine poker, an' the stiffest game I ever sat in.

Time didn't drag none now. Artie knew the game, an' it kept me in a sweat to beat him. White chips was a hundred dollars apiece; but we bet colored ones mostly, to keep from litterin' up the table. Spring began to loosen up about the first of March, an' by that time Artie owed me two million real dollars. Locals an' Hammy was into me for close to a billion, but I didn't treasure their humble offerings much, 'ceptin' as pipe-lighters. We was keyed up to a high pitch by this time, an' was beginnin' to get thin and ringey about the eyes. Artie from losin', me from longin' for the time to come when I should start out to be a little Monte Cristo on my own hook, an' Locals an' Hammy, from pityin' Artie an' envyin' me.

On the twenty-fifth of March a wagon-load of grub an' four men came out to get things started. I see 'em comin' up the grade, an' I piked down an' told'em 'at I had landed a good thing, an' to just treat me as the boss for a few days an' I'd make it all right with 'em.

When Artie saw the new men he turned pale about the gills. He owed me close to three millions, an' blame if I didn't feel a little sorry for him. Still, I'd played fair all the while, an' I 'lowed 'at the Earl o' Clarenden could stand it, and I needed the money a heap more'n some who might 'a' won it.

When old Bill Sykes came in to report to me I was wearin' a plug hat on the back o' my head an' sportin' a white vest an' a red necktie, so I looked enough like the real thing to make it easy for him to act his part. He came in an' blurted out, right while we was boostin' up a jack-pot. "That'll do, me good man," sez I, "wait until this hand is played." Bill, he took off his hat an' stood humble until Artie had scooped in a hundred thousand dollars, an' then I told Bill he might talk.

"The watchman was found froze to death, Mr. Hawkins," sez Bill to me mighty respectful, "an' your train waited until two relief parties had been drove back by storms, an' then it pulled out for 'Frisco. We are all ready to take charge here, an' as soon as you wish you can drive down in the wagon an' telegraph for the train."

Bill backed out bowin', an' we made plans to emigrate a little. I promised Locals an' Hammy a generous rake-off, an' we fixed to have a tol'able fair time as soon as I cashed in.

Next mornin' I found a letter addressed to Mr. John Hawkins, Esq. Artie wasn't around, but Locals an' Hammy was, so I opened the letter an' read it. This here is the letter. It's one o' my greatest treasures.

"GENTLEMEN,—You have all treated me fine an' I hate to skin out without saying good-bye but I have not the nerve. I have lied to you all the time. I am not a real lord at all. My father was gardener at Clarenden Castle an' I was under groom at St. James Court. When the younger son came to this country, I came with him but left him an' became a waiter in New York City. I went to an excursion to Long Branch an' got to flirting with a widow just for pastime. She dogged my life after that and my wife is something terrible so I took her and came to Los Angeles. We was as happy as any one could be with a wife like mine until the widow showed up. Then I stood between two fires and either one of them was hell so I got into the balloon and cut the rope expecting to drift over into Mexico. You are all rich and will not need the money but I always play fair and I hate to skin out this way; "yours truly "L. A. C.

"P.S. It was all I could do to keep from helping with the work 'cause some of your cooking was rotten and you did not wash the dishes clean but I knew if I worked you would not think me a real lord. I hope some day I may be able to repay you for all your kindness."

I didn't say a word after I finished readin' the letter. I had fallen too far to have any breath left for talkin'; but Hammy an' Locals unbosomed their hearts something terrible.

"A murrian on the filthy swine!" sez Hammy, after he began to quiet down a little. "I would I had his treacherous throat within my grasp, that I might squeeze his inky soul back to the lower depths from whence he sprung."

"Hush, you punkin headed peasant," sez I. "The' 's just as much of Alfred's blood flowin' through his veins now as the' ever was."

"'T is not the money I have lost that makes me mad," sez Locals. "It's finding out that a man can become so degenerate that he will impose upon the very ones who save his life—deceive them, lie to them!"

"Oh, he ain't the only liar 'at was ever in this hotel," sez I; "an' when it comes to the money YOU'VE lost, that'd be a small matter to get mad over. He risked just as much money as we did, an' if he'd 'a' won, he wouldn't 'a' won a cent more."

After a while they grew more resigned in their langwidge; but after we had driven down to town without finding him, Hammy sez, "In sooth 't is bitter truth that all the world's a stage; yet Fate, however cruel, never decreed that I should play the second season, as servile server to a worn out mine—my health is all right again, an' I'm goin' back where a feller gets paid decent wages for makin' a fool of himself."

Suddenly Locals gave a yell of joy and shouted, "My fortune's made! I can take this thing and have a runaway boy and a lost orphan and a rich uncle and a villanous cousin, and write the novel of the age about it."

"No, no!" sez Hammy, catchin' the excitement, "tragedy—make it a tragedy. It is for the stage! Think of them lost without food and the balloon coming into sight! Think of the scenic effects, the low music as the orphan kneels in the middle of the stage and prays that the balloon may bring them food; and then have the villanous cousin in the balloon—"

Well, they purt' nigh fought about it, and they were still at it when I left them. The tingle of spring in the air made me wild to get back to the range again. I thought of little Barbie and what a great girl she must be by this time. I thought of the big-eyed winter calves huggin' up to their mothers and wonderin' what it all meant. I thought of old Mount Savage, and all of a sudden somethin' seemed pullin' at my breast like a rope, an' I drew down my winter wages, an' set out for the no'th, eager as a hound pup on his first hunt.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DRESS REFORM AT THE DIAMOND DOT

I've heard it called Christian fortitude, an' I've heard it called Injun stoickcism, an' I've heard it called bulldog grit; but it's a handy thing to have, no matter what it is. I mean the thing that keeps a feller good company when the' 's a hurtin' in his heart that he never quite forgets. A little child away from home an' just sick to go back, a man who has to grit his teeth an'—but no, the first expresses the feelin' better—a child, homesick, but keepin' a stiff upper lip; and it don't make much difference what the age, that's a condition 'at nobody ever outgrows.

Well, all the years I'd been away the' was a little empty sore spot in my heart that I couldn't quite forget; but I never aired it none, an' I don't believe I knew myself how big it was, until I left Slocum's Luck behind me an' headed for the Diamond Dot. Then I spread a grin on my face that nothin' wouldn't wipe off, an' I stepped so high an' light that I was like a nervous man goin' barefoot through a thistle patch. I was headed for home; an' even a mule that gets dressed down regular with the neck-yoke gives a little simmer of joy when he's headed toward home, while a dog,—well, a dog will just naturally joyful himself all over when the trail doubles back on itself, an' a dog ain't no parlor loafer, neither, if I'm any judge.

Why, for two years I hadn't polished a saddle, an' I whistled like a boy when I pictured to myself the feel of a hoss under me. The' 's somethin' about feelin' a hoss's strength slide into your legs an' up through your body that must be a good deal like the sensation a saint enjoys the first fly he takes with his new wings. A little pop-eyed drug merchant was out here on a tour oncet, an' he asked me the usual list of blame-fool questions, about what we et an' where we washed an' if it didn't make us ache to sleep on the hard ground, an so on. When I had made answers to his queries accordin' to the amount of information I thought it wise to load him with, he shakes his head solemn like an' sez, "I do not see where you get any compensation for such a life as this."

"We don't get any compensation," sez I, "but look at all the hoss-back ridin' we get to make up for it."

An' there I was with the spring drippin' all about me, the plains standin' beckonin' to me on every side, just coaxin' to be rode over, an' me walkin' on foot with flat-heeled boots on!

I had rode out on Sam Cutler's freighter to within' twenty miles o' the ranch house, an' I built a little fire an' unrolled my blankets; but I couldn't sleep. I just lay lookin' up at the stars an' tryin' to imagine what Barbie looked like an' whether Starlight was still at the ranch, an' every now an' again I tried to decide as to whether I'd grin or he haughty when I first spied Jabez. I was some anxious to come upon Barbie first. I knew she'd be glad to see me, but I was rather leery about Jabez. He would 'a' welcomed a projical son of his own as often as occasion offered, but he wasn't just the sort of a man to be a public welcomer. I couldn't picture him puttin' up a sign sayin', "Projical sons turn to the left. If chicken is proferred to veal, shoot in the air twice when you get within a mile of the house."

But I was too much elated to worry much, an' along about one o'clock I rolled up my blankets, kicked out my fire, an' started to drill. When the sun rose I was in sight of the ranch house, an' the sun seemed to throw an arm around my shoulder an' go skippin' along by my side—an' I did skip now an' again.

When I got about a mile from the house I came upon Jabez, walkin' slow an' lookin' down-hearted. He hadn't changed a mite in the five years—in fact from what I could see he hadn't even changed his clothes; so for a moment I thought his sour look was the same ill humor I'd left him in; an' then I saw it was more serious, an' my heart stopped with a thump.

He looked up just then an' we stared at each other without speakin'. "Ain't you dead?" sez he.

"No I ain't," sez I.

"We heard you was," sez he; "killed in a muss over at Danders."

"I don't believe it," sez I, "an' besides, I ain't been in Danders for over seven years."

"Well, then, what made you stay away so long for?" sez he, sort o' snappy.

"I don't remember you sheddin' any tears when I left, an' I don't recall you beggin' me to hurry back," sez I. I was pleased at the way I was bein' received an' I meant to make him show his hand.

"You know as well as I do that things allus go better on this ranch when you're here."

"Yes," sez I.

"An' you know 'at I don't like to beg no man to do anything; but you ought to see that I know that you're the usefullest man I ever had, an' you oughtn't to be so fly-uppity," sez he.

"Now see here, Jabez," sez I, "you're one o' the kind o' men who never own up 'at a man was fit to live until after he's dead. You're like some o' these Easterners—they get so everlastin' entranced with the beautiful scenery that they forget to water their ridin' hosses. I don't ask no special favors, but I ain't so mortal thick-skinned myself, an' you ought to learn sometime that there is hosses 'at work better when they're not beat up an' yelled at."

"Are you goin' to stay this time?" sez he.

"As long as it's agreeable—all around," sez I. "Is everything goin' smooth?"

The down-hearted look came into his eyes again. "She won't speak to me," sez he.

"You don't mean to say 'at you've gone an' got married," sez I, "or that you are tryin' to?"

"I ain't such a fool," he snaps. "It's Barbie, I mean."

"How long has this been goin' on?" sez I.

"This is the fourth meal," sez he; an' he was so solemn about it that I was some inclined to snicker, but then it flashed upon me that when I left, the child was all het up over the letter she'd found in the attic, and I sobered an' sez, "Is it something 'at's goin' to be hard to smooth over?"

"I don't see how the deuce it's ever goin' to be smoothed over," sez Jabez, desperately.

"Would you feel like sort o' hintin' what it was about?" sez I.

"Well, it's about the way she acts," sez Jabez. "Confound it, Happy, she's the best gal child ever was on this earth, I reckon, but she don't want to be one, an' she won't act like it, an' she—she won't dress like it. Every time I argue with her she beats me to it, an' I'm plumb stumped. Yesterday I told her she had to take 'em off an' wear dresses, an' she did; but now she won't speak to me."

"You mean that you said that she was never to argue with you again?" sez I, indignant.

"No, I mean that I sez she must take those confounded buckskin pants off! She's big enough now to begin to train to become a woman—not a man."

I had to grin a little, but even though it didn't seem as skeptical to me as it did to him, I saw he might be right about it. Still, I wasn't goin' to take sides without hearin' all the evidence, so I sez, "Is she healthy, Jabez?"

"Healthy?" he sez. "Why, that child could winter through without shelter an' come out in the spring kickin' up her heels an' snortin'."

"Well, that much is in her favor," sez I. "Is she good at her studies?"

"Where you been that you haven't heard about it?" sez he. "Last winter she out-ciphered an' out-spelt the schoolmarm, an' she fuddled up one o' these missionary preachers till he didn't know where he was at. She has been studyin' about all kinds o' things, an' she cornered him up on the first chapter o' Genesis. She lined out the school-marm first, an' the schoolmarm came an' told me that she was an infidel—the' ain't no sense in havin' women teach school, Happy. You can't reason with 'em an' you can't fight with 'em an' they just about pester a body to death. I don't see how Barbie stands it."

"Well, what did you do about her bein' an infidel?" sez I.

"I couldn't do anything to the teacher except tell her what I thought of her; but next Sunday I had Barbie read to me the first chapter o' Genesis. Did you ever read it, Happy?"

"Yes," sez I, "I read all of that book an' most of the next one. Me an' another feller had a dispute about the Bible one time, an' he said it was the best readin' the' was, an' I said it was too dry. He read me about a feller in it named Samson, who was full o' jokes an' the strongest man ever was, I reckon, before he let that Philistine woman loco him, an' he read about another feller, just a mite of a boy, who killed a giant with a slingshot in front of an army which had made fun of him an' was all ready to give in to the giant, an' he read me some poems about mountains; an' I had to give in that the Bible was the greatest book ever was. That was up at a little ranch in Idaho, an' he was goin' to read it all to me an' explain what it meant,—he was full edicated, this feller was, an' had a voice as soft as a far-off bell, an' an eye that seemed to reach right out an' shake hands with ya,—but one day when I was away a posse surprised him, an' though he potted two of 'em they finally put him out. He left me his Bible with a note in it which said that he had killed the man all right an' that he would do it again under the circumstances; but he couldn't tell a word in his own defense 'count of mixin' in a woman. We never found out a word about it, not even where the posse came from. Well, afterward I tried to read it alone; but I couldn't make any headway. For one thing, the' 's too many pedigrees to keep track of, an' the names are simply awful. I don't want to be profane nor nothin', but hanged if I think the Children of Israel was square enough to deserve all the heavenly favors they got; so I finally gave up tryin' to read it. But what about you an' Barbie?"

"Well," sez he, "I'd read the Bible clean through from cover to cover an' I never saw anything unreasonable in it, so I thought I could set Barbie right without any trouble. She read the first chapter, an' by that time I was runnin' for cover an' yellin' for help. The' ought to be something done about that book, it ain't right to try an' raise a child to be honest, an' tell 'em that they must believe the Bible, an' then have 'em find out what the Bible really sez."

"Well, what about it?" sez I.

"Well, it sez that the' was light an' darkness an' evenin' an' mornin' on the first day; on the third day the' was all kinds o' grass an' herbs yieldin' seeds, an' fruit trees yieldin' fruit; but the' wasn't no sun or stars until the fourth day. Now how could you have evenings an' mornings an' grass an' fruit trees without sunshine? You know that wouldn't work, an' when she put it up to me I simply threw up my hands, an' sent Spider Kelley with the buckboard to hunt up this missionary preacher. He was long-haired an' pius, an' when I saw him I felt purty sure he could straighten it out; but he wasn't game. Barbie argued fair an' square, an' he lost his temper an' called her an infidel an' a heretic an' a nagnostic; but she pulled a lot o' books on him, an' he couldn't understand 'em an' blasphemed 'em something terrible; but he see he was whipped, an' just simply ran away. I felt mighty bad about Barbie bein' an infidel until Friar Tuck came around. You remember Friar Tuck—the one they call an Episcolopian?" Course I remembered Friar Tuck. Everybody knew him an' he was about as easy to forget as a stiff neck—though for different reasons. Preachers are about as different as other humans to begin with, but the women seem more unanimously bent on spoilin' 'em; so as a general rule I wade in purty careful when I 'm startin' an acquaintance with a strange one, but I did know that this here one was all to the right, an' his time belonged to any one who demanded it. This made him purty wearin' on hosses, an' when one would give out on him he'd just turn it loose an' rope another 'thout makin' any preliminary about it; all the explanation a body got was just seein' a tired, stray pony eatin' grass. The first time he tried that game they gathered up a posse an' ran him down; but he pulled a Bible on 'em showin' where he got his commission from, threw a sermon into 'em 'at converted two an' made one other sign the pledge, an' that put an end to any unsolicited interference in his line o' work. He was a big man with two right hands, an' some one gave him the name of Friar Tuck out of a book, an' he was known by it the whole country over.

I nodded my head: "Did the Friar get fainty about Barbie bein' a heretic?" sez I.

"No, he didn't," sez Jabez, "he just laughed when I told him about it, an' he an' Barbie, they wrangled over it for a long time; but he played fair. When he didn't know the answer he owned up to it, an' then he told her that the Bible was written by a lot of different men, an' that the spirit of it was inspired; but that the' wasn't any words ever invented that could describe creation; because the origin of life was a thing 'at man wasn't wise enough to comprehend, an' that all the scientific books ever written couldn't come any nearer to it than that first chapter of Genesis, which had been written ages ago when the old Earth was still in its childhood."

"How did Barbie get around this?" sez I.

"Well, she didn't have much to say; he didn't climb up on a perch an' call her names, he just sat there by her side like they was both children together; an' then he took some of her books an' explained things she didn't understand an' pointed out things 'at other scientists didn't believe in, an' he actually said 'at he believed that after they had examined the earth all over, inside an' out with a magnifyin' glass, every last scientist the' was would be willin' to admit that it must have been created some way or another; and that we'd all be the better for the work these scientists was doin', but that she mustn't confuse the word with the spirit, for it was the spirit which giveth life. He's an A I man, Friar Tuck is; but when I offered him twice as much a year as he's gettin' to stay an' teach her, he just laughed again, an' said that I wasn't in no position to double the kind o' wages he was workin' for. I was a little put out at this, but Barbie said he was talkin' in parables."

"Was she wearin' the buckskin pants when he was here?" sez I.

"Yes, she was, an' I didn't much like the way he acted about that. At first he thought she was a boy, an' it made me hot; but he sez to me, 'Didn't God create man first?' I owned up that he did. 'Well, then,' said he, 'let this child develop the man side of her first, so that she may have strength an' courage for all her journey.' Everything that man sez has the ring o' truth in it, an' I didn't have much of a come-back, except to say that she was overdoing it. He called Barbie over to him an' looked into her eyes an' put his big hand on her head an' afterward he sez to me, 'You needn't worry; soon enough a soul which is all woman will stand before you and ask questions which will make you long for these days back again. Give her all the time she will take.'"

"What else did he say?" sez I.

"Well, he asked me if I had ever noticed a litter of pups. I said I had, and he wanted to know if the' was much difference in the way they played. I owned up that the' wasn't. Then he looked sort o' worried an' asked me if I had ever found any of 'em to get their sex mixed up bad enough to have the tangle last through life. I had to admit that I never had, an' he laughed at me good an' proper—but his laughs never hurt. I didn't mind about her wearin' the buckskins after that so much."

"Well, then, what made you rear up about 'em yesterday?" sez I.

"I hired a new man when she was out ridin',—day before yesterday it was,—an' when she came in he thought she was a boy an' kind o' got gay, an' she panned him out; an' he cussed her an' she drew a gun on him an' made him take it back, an' he might o' taken some spite out on her before he found out she was a girl. She is too sizey now, an' confound it, leggin's an' a short skirt ought to satisfy any female—but now she won't speak to me, an' I can't go back on my order, so I don't see how we're goin' to straighten it out."

I pertended to be mad. "Jabez," I sez, "I do wish I could come back to this ranch just once an' find it runnin' smooth. Here I come all the way from Nevada just to see it once again, an' I find the boss an' his daughter ain't on speakin' terms, an' I have to stand palaverin' for a solid hour without anything bein' asked about my appetite, an' me just finishin' a twenty-mile walk."

"By George, I'm sorry!" sez Jabez. "But hang it, Happy, you ought to savvy this place well enough by this time to know 'at no human ever has to set up an' beg for food. I'm glad to see you 'cause the little girl does set a heap by you, an' you seem to have a way o' straightenin' out the kinks. While you're eatin' breakfast see if you can't think up some way to get her to talkin' again." We started to walk to the house, an' I sez, "just what was your orders about these buckskins?"

"I told her to take 'em off at once an' throw 'em out the window, sez he.

"Did she do it?" sez I.

"She allus obeys orders when she drives me to issue 'em—but I allus get a sting out of it, some way or other. This time I issued the order at the supper table, an' she went upstairs to her room, stuffed the suit full o' pillows, stood in the window, an' screamed until me an' the boys ran out to see what was the matter. Then she threw the figger out an' we thought she had jumped, an' I made a fool o' myself. It's playin' with fire every time you cross her, but she allus obeys orders. Still, it's tarnation hard to be her father—not that I'd trade the job for any other in the country, at that."

I had to chuckle inward all the way to the house, an' just before we arrived to it I purt' nigh exploded. Here come a figger, heavily veiled an' wearin' a shapeless sort of a dress affair made out of a bedquilt an' draggin' behind on the ground. It walked along slow an' dignified, like some sort of a heathen ghost, an' when it came to a pebble in the path it would walk around it an' not step over, all the time holdin' a hand lookin' glass to see that her toe didn't show. I just took one side-eye at Jabez an' his face looked like a storm cloud at a picnic; but when Barbie see who I was she tore off the veil, gathered up her skirts, an' yelled, "Happy! Happy Hawkins, is it really you?"

"I'm ready to take my oath on it, madame," sez I, not crackin' a smile; "but if I might make so bold, who are you?"

"Oh, Happy, we thought you was dead," said she, with a little catch in her voice that made me wink a time or two. "Where have you been all these years, an' why didn't you come back to us?"

She stood lookin' into my eyes, half tender an' half cross, an' I couldn't help but try her out to see which would win. "I didn't know for sure that I'd be welcome," sez I.

"Oh. Happy!" she sez; an' she threw her arms around my neck an' kissed me, an' then we went in to breakfast. I answered her questions between bites, an' as soon as we'd finished I proposed we'd go for a ride. "I haven't crossed a saddle for two years," sez I. "Is Starlight here yet?"

"Well I should say he is, and fat an' bossy," sez she. "The' hasn't airy another body but me rode him neither. I divide my ridin' between him an' Hawkins, just ridin' a colt now an' again to keep from gettin' careless." Then she stopped an' looked down at the thing she was wearin' an' said, sadly, "But I reckon my ridin' days are over."

"Alas, yes," sez I, usin' Hammy's most solemn voice, "Old Age has set his seal upon your brow, an' I can see you sitting knitting by the fire for your few remainin' days."

"Where did you learn to talk that way?" sez she, quick as a wink. So I told her of my winter at Slocum's Luck, an' she asked me a million questions about Hammy an' Locals. When I was through she sat silent for a while an' then she sez, "Happy, I'm goin' to see more o' the world than just this ranch some day."

"Well, the' ain't much of it that's a whole lot better—an' I've seen it about all," sez I.

"You seen it about all?" sez she, scornful; "why, you haven't seen the inside of one real house."

I glanced around, but she snaps in, "This ain't a house, this is just shelter from the elements. I'm goin' to see mansions an' palaces, an' I'm goin' to see 'em from the inside too."

"Have you ever read Monte Cristo?" sez I.

"No," sez she.

"Then don't you do it," sez I. "Your head's about as far turned now as your neck'll stand, an' what you ought to do is to learn how to cook an' sew."

She looked at me with her eyes snappin', but in a second her face broke into a grin. "The' ain't a mite o' use in your tryin' that," sez she. "You like me just as I am, an' you don't need to feel it's your duty to work in any that teacher stuff. Gee, but I'm glad you came back It looks as if me an' Dad is in for a long siege of it this time, an' you'll keep me from gettin' lonesome."

"Not the right answer," sez I. "I'm goin' to leave tomorrow."

Her face grew long in a minute, when she see I meant it. "Happy—you don't really mean that, do you?"

"Barbie," I sez, "I had to leave before, or take sides. Well, you an' the boss are warrin' again; I can't fight you, an' I won't side again him. You don't leave me any choice—I just have to go away again."

"Oh, I don't want you to go away again," she sez. "You allus find more in things than the rest of 'em ever do, an' I want you to tell me all about those two queer men you spent the winter with, an' to teach me just the way the one you call Hammy used his voice. Happy, you just can't go away again."

"I don't want to go away again," sez I, an' I was down-right in earnest by this time, "but you make me. Barbie, you are hard-hearted. You know that your father thinks the world of you—"

"He don't think one speck more of me than I do of him," she snaps in.

"Yes, but he's different," I sez. "He's your father, an' he has to guide and correct you."

"Well, he don't have to throw in my teeth that I'm a girl every tine I want to do anything."

"I'm disappointed in you," I sez to her in a hard voice. "I thought that you would be game, but you're not."

"What ain't I game about?" sez she.

"You're ashamed of bein' a girl," sez I.

"I ain't," sez she. "I'm glad I'm a girl, an' I want to tell you that the' 's been just about as many heroines as heros too. I don't mean just these patient women who put up with things; I mean heroines in history. Look at Joan of Arc!"

"I never heard of her before," sez I, "but I reckon she must have been Noah's wife." She breaks in an' tells me the story of the French farm girl who got to be the leader of an army and whipped the king of England an' was finally burned; an' then, naturally, became a heroine an' a saint.

"She didn't wear boys clothes, did she?" I sez, thinkin' I had her.

"Yes, she did!" sez Barbie.

"Well, she ought to be ashamed of herself," I said; but I knew I was gettin' the worst of it, so I changes the subject. "But speakin' about the Ark," sez I, "there's another example of your obstinacy. When I went away from here you was fussin' with the school-teachers because they said this whole earth was once under water, an' now I find you cuttin' around an' linin' out missionary-preachers because you ain't suited with the way the Bible was wrote. It looks to me as if you ought to get old enough sometime to realize 'at you ain't nothin' but a child. Your father is willin' to give you a fair show; he don't ask you to act like a girl, all he wants is for you to look like one."

"If I have to wear a skirt, you know mighty well I can't ride," sez she.

"You don't have to wear a thing like what you have on now," I sez. "Why don't you get over your pout an' be sensible. He never asks you to humble yourself. All you need is to do what he wants, an' he'll drop it at once."

"Yes," sez she, "all I need to do is to give up my independence an' he'll think I'm a nice little girl."

"Why don't you figger out some kind of a dress that would look like a girl's and—and work like a boy's?" sez I.

She sat thinkin' for a minute an' then sez, "That wouldn't be a complete surrender, that would only be a compromise; an' I'd be mighty glad to do it if the' was only some way."

"Where's that picture of the girl who whipped the king?" sez I.

She ran an' got it, an' it was a dandy lookin' girl all right,—it looked a little mite like Barbie herself,—but she was wearin' clothes 'at most folks would think undesirable; they was made out of iron an' covered with cloth.

"You don't want to wear any such thing as that, Barbie," sez I, "it would be too blame hot, an' that bedquilt thing's bad enough."

"That's what they used to fight in," sez she.

"They must 'a' been blame poor shots," sez I. "Why, I could shoot 'em through those eye-holes as fast as they came up, an' she don't even wear any head part with hers." Then an idea struck me: "But why don't you make a suit like her outside one?" sez I. "It comes below her knees an' yet she can ride in it all right."

Well, we got old Melisse to help us, an' by four o'clock the thing was done. We had used up some dark-green flannel that Jabez had bought to have a dress made of, an' which she had kicked on. She took it up to her room an' I went out to find Jabez. I told him that she was always willin' to give in when any honorable way was pointed out, an' he was the tickledest man in the West. He went in to supper four times before it was ready, but when it finally was ready Barbie wouldn't come down.

Melisse went after her an' come back sayin' that Barbie didn't feel hungry an' was goin' to wait until after dark an' then wear it outdoors.

"What nonsense!" sez Jabez. "Here she's been wearin' regular buckskin pants, an' now she fusses up about what you say is a half dress. You go an' get her."

I went to the head of the stairs an' called her, an' she finally stuck her head out of her room an' sez, "Happy, I just can't wear this thing. It flaps!"

"Let it flap!" sez I. "You're just like a colt gettin' used to a single-tree; you won't mind it after the first hour. Let me see how it looks."

She opens the door an' stands with a queer new look on her face, an' her cheeks pink as wild roses. I hadn't never seen those cheeks pink up for anything but fun or anger before, an' it flashed upon me what Friar Tuck had told Jabez; an' I was willin' to bet that the time would come when he'd have full as much girl on his hands as any one man could wish.

The waist part of it was loose an' low in the neck an' came to a little below the knees where the leggin's began. The upper part of the leggin's which you couldn't see were loose an' easy. Her little legs looked cute an' shapely, an' her smooth, round throat came up from the open neck mighty winnin'—the whole thing was just right an' I sez to her, "Why, Barbie, this is the finest rig you ever had on, an' you're as purty as a picture."

Well, her face went the color of a sunset an' she slammed the door. "If I was your Dad," sez I to myself, "you'd go back to those buckskins to-morrow." I waited a moment an' then I began to make fun of her, and after a while she came out with her teeth set tight together an' we went down to the dinin' room; but it was the first time I had ever seen her take an awkward step.

"Now that's what I call a sensible garment," sez Jabez, heartily, an' then he begun talkin' to me. Jabez had a lot o' wisdom when he kept his head, an' by the time supper was over Barbie was purty well used to the feel, an' we all three went for a ride; me ridin' Starlight, Barbie, Hawkins, an' Jabez a strappin' bay, one of Pluto's colts, an' a beauty. Well, I'll never forget that ride: you know how tobacco tastes after a man owns up that he was only jokin' when he swore off; you know how liquor seems to ooz all through you after you've been out in the alkali for three months—well, that first ride, after bein' out o' commission for two years, makes these two sensations something like the affection a man has for sour-dough bread. Oh, it was glorious! we all felt like a flock o' birds—hosses an' all. In the first place it was spring, an' that was excuse enough if the' hadn't been any other; but two of us had gone into that day not on speakin' terms, an' now they were closer than ever, an' the third one had brought 'em together. The old sayin' is that three's a crowd, but it took a crowd to hold all the joyfulness that we was luggin' that night, an' it was ten o'clock before we turned around on the velvet carpet an' came swingin' back to the house.

We had to finish with a little race, an' I was rejoiced to see that old Starlight hadn't become a back number, even though the bay colt did make it a mighty close finish.

As soon as we unsaddled, Barbie sort o' whispered to me, "I 'm awful glad you came back, Happy"; an' then she ran into the house.

Jabez shook hands an' sez, "It seems to me, Happy, that I've been waitin' for you for months. I hope to goodness you don't fly up any more."

"I ain't goin' to look for trouble, Jabez," sez I. "This spot is the most homelike to me of any on earth; but I don't believe I'll turn in yet. I want to stroll around a little."

I walked off in the quiet to the little mound where Monody lay, an' I sat there a long while, thinkin' o' the last time I'd come back. The night was unusual warm, an' I hunted up all the stars that I knew, an' watched 'em as they dropped down one by one behind the mountains. I thought of all that Friar Tuck had said about the origin of life, an' what a nerve a child like Barbie had to even study on such a subject. Then I dropped back to all the happiness I'd had that day, an' the last thing I knew I was lookin' into Barbie's eyes an' wonderin' what made her face so pink. It was the cold, gray dawn-wind that woke me up.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE LASSOO DUEL

That was a summer I love to think over; but the' wasn't nothin' happened to tell about. I was a little soft at first, but it didn't take me long to get my hand in, an' I roped my half o' the winter calves. It had been a mild winter an' the' was a big run of 'em, an' Jabez was in a good humor most o' the time.

The men mostly liked Jabez; but they used to talk a lot about him, as he was some different from the usual run. He had first come into that locality when Barbie was two years old, buyin' the big Sembrick ranch an' stockin' it up to the limit. Ye never said a word about his wife, nor his past; an' Jabez wasn't just the sort of character a man felt like pryin' private history out of.

The men laughed a good bit about the time Jabez had had with the Spike Crick school. He had a fool notion that money was entitled to do all the talkin', an' that's a hard position to make good in a new country. After his money had built the schoolhouse, they refused to elect him one o' the trustees; said it might lead to one-man control. Still, Jabez wasn't no blind worshiper of the law, an' when he found that they'd put a rope on him, he just sidles in an' asserts himself. It was easy enough to convince a teacher that the trustees was boss; but when Jabez began to get impatient, the school-teacher generally emigrated a little. Then they put a cinch on him for true. They hired a woman teacher. When it came to bluffin' a woman teacher, Jabez got tongue-handled so bad that once did him for all time to come.

But the' wasn't any difference of opinion when it came to Barbie. The' wasn't a man on the place who wasn't willin' to stretch a neck for her. She knew 'em all by name an' used to tease 'em an' contrairy 'em; but she never hid behind bein' the boss's daughter. Any time they scored, she paid, an' that was the thing that made 'em worship her. She had changed a lot in the five years I'd been away; not only in size, in fact, that was the least noticed in her; but she had more thinkin' spells.

It used to be that she made up to every one right from the start; but now she was a little shy at first, especially with Easterners. Easterners generally are about as tantalizin' as it's possible for a human to get, but she had never minded 'em much until this summer. Now she'd answer the first twenty-five or thirty fool questions polite enough, but after that she got purty frosty an' would ask 'em some questions herself that would straighten 'em up right short in their tracks. About every time an Easterner would pull out I noticed that she'd put a little wider heal on the bottom of her skirt.

But she was purty much the same with me, an' after the spring round-up she used to keep me ridin' with her most o' the time when the' wasn't anything actually demandin' my attention. It was just about this time that Jabez hired a new man by the name of Bill Andrews. He was about as near speak-less as a man ever gets, an' he wasn't much liked by the rest of us; but he was a hard worker an' a good, all-around hand, so he got along all right.

When the fall round-up came, Barbie surprised every one by sayin' she wasn't goin' to do any of the ridin', but would wait until after we'd got all the sortin' out an' brandin' done, an' would then come out an' see the whole herd in a bunch. The' wasn't a thing the matter with her health an' we all wondered what was her reason; but I had my own private opinion—she was beginnin' to find out she was a girl, an' she wasn't quite used to it.

We finally rounded up in the big bend of Spike Crick, an' the stuff was in the suet, every one of 'em. Omaha was supposed to be straw boss; but he was too easy-goin' an' generally let the men do about as they pleased. Bill Andrews, the new man, had a sneer on his face about half the time, an' one mornin' when I came in from night ridin', he sez to a bunch o' the boys: "I didn't suppose the parlor boarder ever risked any night dampness."

They all grinned, 'cause the' wasn't any jokes barred with us; but I didn't grin. I walked over to the group an' I sez: "Is the' anybody else in this outfit that has any o' that brand o' supposin' about 'im?"

"Aw sit down, Happy," they sez; an' "What's the matter, Happy; you gettin' tender?" an' such like things; but Bill Andrews continued to sit an' grin, so I sez to him: "As a rule, the last comer in an outfit has sense enough to either use his eyes or ask questions. I admit that this is a purty easy-goin' place,—they don't even ask where a man comes from when they take him on,—but I've been here off an' on for some time, an' I reckon that the boss is able to figger out whether or not I've been worth what I cost."

"Yes," sez Andrews, slow an' drawly, "the boss—or his daughter."

Three o' the boys grabbed me, but Andrews never moved; so I let go of my gun an' sez, "It seems 'at you're the kind of a hound 'at picks out a safe time to snarl—but the' 'll be other times."

"Any time you wish," sez he, "but I didn't mean what you seem to think. I know well enough 'at the' 'll never be nothin' between you an' her—the old man knows it too, an' you ain't kept here for nothin' except to be her play-mate."

I was so blame mad I couldn't see. I couldn't speak. I was so infernal het up that I choked an' spluttered; but when I got my hands on his throat I put my finger-prints on his neck-bone. The boys had a hard time tearin' us apart, an' a heap harder time startin' Andrews goin' again; but as soon as he was able to talk, I sez to him, "Now we ain't through with this yet. I'm willin' to give you your choice of settlements, but you sure have to settle some way. How do you want to settle?"

He had black blood—an' he was a coward. It's the hardest mix-up a man ever has to deal with. He jumped to his feet, his face all twisted up in a wolf-snarl, but he couldn't look me in the eyes, an' he finally tries to smile. Its a weak, sickly affair, but it is a smile all right, an' he sez, "We'll just compete to see which is the best man at a round-up, an' we'll settle it that way. The' ain't no use of us makin' fools of ourselves over nothin' at all. I was just jokin' an' I didn't think you'd be so blame pernicious about boldin' down an easy snap; so as the' ain't really nothin' between us, we'll settle it that way."

I had been doin' some quick thinkin' while he was talkin', an' when he finished, I broke out laughin', "Why, you blame rookie," sez I, "you don't really think I was mad, do you? I see 'at you was only jokin' right from the start, but I wanted to do a little play-actin' for the boys here. That'll be the best way of all to settle it—see who's the best man at a round-up."

He looked some relieved when he laughed—an' then he rubbed his neck. I indulged in some hoss-play with Omaha, an' began to eat my breakfast; but all the time I was thinkin'. I was thinkin' several different ways too: first, was the' some truth in what Bill Andrews had said—was I gettin' to be nothin' but the playmate of a girl? Then I wondered if Jabez had studied over it any—I never had myself before. I knew that he never cared nothin' about my wages, knowin' that I had saved him more the night I brought Monody back than he'd ever pay me—but I didn't want to be pensioned, an' I didn't care to be looked on as the ranch watchdog. But the thing that finally came an' refused to leave was a question—what right did I have to waste the best part of my life loafin' around with a child? The' was a lot more o' these pesterin' questions; but they all finally perched on Bill Andrews an' made me want to blow him up with dynamite.

That was the swiftest round-up ever the Diamond Dot had. Bill Andrews was a roper for true, an' I don't believe the' was a man in the West 'at could touch me those days. When me an' Barbie would be out ridin' I was always practicin' with a rope or a gun, an' I had a dozen foller-up throws 'at I've never seen beat. I did my work cleaner an' more showy'n he did, but it couldn't be done much quicker. We finished three days ahead of the schedule an' the boys said it was a tie. I had roped twenty-six more calves'n he had, but they wanted to see us contest a little more, an' they figgered out excuses for him. The' ain't nothin' ever satisfies a civilized human except a finish fight. He don't care a hang for points.

Well, we did all kinds o' fancy ropin', an' I was a shade the better at all of it; but those confounded cusses kept on claimin' it was a tic until I got het up a little, an' sez 'at we'll have a lassoo duel an' that'll settle it, even among blind men. This ain't all amusement, this lassoo-duel on hoss-back, an' I see Andrews look wickedly content. "Nothing barred," sez he; "we rope hoss or rider, either one."

"Sure thing," sez I. I don't know to this day whether or not he really thought I was green, but anyhow, he thought he had me at this game, an' I saw in a moment 'at he had trained his pony; but he didn't have any advantage over me. I was ridin' Hawkins, an' he had been dodgin' ropes all his life an' liked the sport. We fenced for an hour without bein' able to land, an' then he gets his noose over Hawkins' neck. Before he can draw it tight I rides straight at him; his pony has settled back for a jerk; I gets my noose over the pony's neck, a loop over Andrew's right wrist, when he tries to ward it off his own neck, an' then another loop over his shoulders, pinnin' the left arm an' the right wrist to his body. My rope was the shorter now so I sets Hawkins back an' takes a strain. I knew what was goin' to happen when that rope tightened—he would be twisted out of the saddle an' his right arm dislocated—an' he knew it too; an' he knew that I was goin' to do it. The boys was as silent as the ace o'clubs.

His face went pale an' he looked at me with beggin' eyes, but mine was hard as stone. I hated him for all the devil-thoughts he had put into my head, an' I wanted to see him twisted an' torn. Then I just happened to see two riders comin' in from toward the ranch house. I knew by instinct it was Jabez an' Barbie, an' just as Andrews started to twist in the saddle I touched Hawkins with the spurs, rode up to him, threw off the loops, put a smile on my face—an' shook hands with Bill Andrews, while all the boys give a cheer. I was pantin' an' tremblin', but I don't think it was noticed, as I kept that smile as easy-goin' an' good-natured as a floatin' cork.

Well, I kidded with the boys until Jabez got through decidin' on what he wanted done with the different bunches, an' then when he an' Barbie rode back to the house I went along. I made sure to brazen it out as much as possible, an' not to give the impression that I was as het up as I had been; but I knew that Bill Andrews was well aware of what had saved him. I also knew that he'd hate me to the day of his death—but he'd fear me to the last minute, an' he'd never start but one more contest.

The Diamond Dot didn't seem so homelike after that; it was a heap easier to get the best of Bill Andrews than it was to get rid of those questions; but I tried to act just as much the same as possible, only I did as much range ridin' as I could make seem natural. I supposed that Bill Andrews would leave, but he didn't; he stayed right along an' he worked hard an' he never kicked. He was allus friendly with me, but he didn't overdo it, an' things went along smooth as joint oil.

Barbie had gone through all the stuff they taught at the Spike Crick School, an' was studyin' some advance stuff with the teacher who was ambitious to finish her own edication. This was a big surprise to me; I had allus supposed that a teacher knew everything, but it seems not. The' 's lots they don't know, an' the front they put up before a pupil is two thirds bluff. A naked body's a disappointin' sight, but I bet a naked soul would make a crow laugh.

All through that winter I was tryin' to find an excuse to quarrel with Jabez, but the' wasn't none. The' wasn't one hitch in the whole outfit except that I'd lost my taste for it. I couldn't get it out of my head that one man had already taken me for a child's playmate, an' while I knew that this particular man had other views by this time, I didn't know how long it would be before some one else would find that same idea gettin' too big to keep under his breath; so the very second that spring opened I hunted up Jabez one mornin' after I had given old Pluto a special good rubbin', an' after talkin' a while about nothin' at all, I sez to him, "Jabez, I'm goin' to pull out purty soon."

"What for?" sez he.

"The' ain't no chance on this place for a man to get on," I sez.

"What do you want to get on for?" Sez he. Well, that was a fetcher. The great trouble in debatin' with a man is, that he never flushes up the kind of an idea 'at your gun is loaded to shoot. "What does any one want to get on for?" sez I.

"I don't know," sez Jabez, kind o' sad like. "It's been so long since I wanted to get on that I can't remember what fool notion it was that sicked me at it; but it looks to me as though you was doing purty well, considerin' the way you work."

There it was again. It was just for all the world as if the watchdog had gone on a strike for higher wages. "Well, you're right about that," sez I. "If I owned a place like this, I wouldn't board a man who didn't do more than I do. That's one reason why I'm goin' to travel on a little—I 'm gettin' so rusty that the creakin' o' my joints sets my teeth on edge."

"Poor old man," sez Jabez, sarcastic. "I saw you vaultin' over Pluto this mornin'. You'd better be careful, you're liable to snap some o' your brittle bones. I'll have to put you on a pension."

"Pension bell!" I snaps. "I've been pensioned too long already. The' ain't any chance for a man with get-up, over a low grade coffee-cooler on this place, an' I 'm sick of it. I'm goin' to hunt up a job where it will pay me to do my best."

"How much pay do you want, for heaven's sake?" sez he.

"I don't want any more pay for what I 'm doin'," sez I, "but I do want more opportunity. You don't keep any out an' out foreman here an'—"

"An' it wouldn't make any difference if I did," he snaps in. "It's allus best to get an imported foreman, an' not have any jealousy; but confound you, I pay six men on this place foremen's wages—an' you're one of 'em."

"Six?" sez I.

"Yes, I raised Bill Andrews' pay last week. He does more work than any of you, an' he ain't all the time growlin'. He won't never have any friends either, so if I was to choose a foreman he'd be my pick."

"I was foreman of the Lion Head a good many years ago," sez I, "an' I built it up, an' my work was appreciated: but I was a fool kid then. Now I 'm gettin' along in years an' I don't intend to waste any more o' my life."

"How old are ya, Happy?" sez he, laughin'.

"Well, I'll be thirty years old—before so many more years," sez I, lookin' full as indignant as I felt, I reckon.

"You're nothin' but a kid in most things," sez Jabez, an' his voice was so friendly that I began to cool. Then he said, "Why, I never think of you like I do the rest o' the boys, though I rely on you a heap more. You've allus been like one o' the family, like; an' you an' Barbie have played around together until most o' the time I think of ya as about the same age; but if it's anything in the money line, why speak out. I was a young feller myself once, an' if you've happened to run up any debts on some o' your town trips, why I'll pass you over a little extra an' take it out in laughin' at you."

By George, he made it hard for me. One moment he'd tramp on my corn an' the next he'd scratch me between the shoulders; but the more he said the more I see that I did not have any regular place in the team; I was just a colt playin; beside, an' it gritten on me something fierce.

"Jabez," I sez, "it's hard for me to explain myself. I like this place an' you know it; but if you had a son o' your own, you wouldn't like to see him settlin' down before he'd struggled up a little. I'm old enough now to take a practical view o' life, an' I intend to become a business man."

He tried not to grin, I'll say that for him, but he couldn't cut it. "Why, bless your heart, boy, you never will be practical, an' as for business, you have about the same talent for it as a grizzly bear. You enjoy life as you go along, an' you enjoy it full an' free; a business man don't enjoy anything but makin' money. You may be rich some day, but it won't be from attendin' to business. Now take a lay-off if you want to, an' get this nonsense out of your system, then come back here. You know 'at Barbie misses you every minute you're away."

"All right," I sez, "I'll try it. I want to leave this place once, the same as if we was both grownup, not as if we had had a child's quarrel. I'll go an' I'll take my lay-off by bucklin' tight down to business; but if it don't seem to agree with me, why, I'll come back here an' make a report."

"Now, don't stay away long, cause the little girl is lonesome for company, an' as she sez to me the other night, you're better company than any book, an' you've got more intelligence than a school-teacher."

"Yes," I went on, "an' I don't require beatin' as often as a fur rug, an' my hair don't shed off as bad as a dog's, an' if I could just forget that I 'm a human bein' I wouldn't be any more bother than the rest o' the furnishings; but that is the one thing that 's on my mind just now—I 'm a man, an' it's time I began to practice at it."

Barbie wasn't quite so easy to get away from as Jabez was. She couldn't believe but what we'd been quarrelin'. When you came right down to givin' the actual reason for my departure without mentionin' any o' the true cause, it was a rather delicate project for a man who hadn't no experience in makin' political speeches: an' Barbie gave me a purty complete goin' over.

We talked it out for a week, but my mind was made up to go an' the' wasn't anything that could stop me, unless it was mighty important; an' at last she stopped arguin' an' just began to look sorry. That was hardest of all.

"Happy," she sez to me one night when we was ridin' back from Look Out, "don't you think I'm old enough now to ask Dad about what that letter meant?"

I turned an' looked at her; the sun was just about to duck behind the ridge, an' her face was in all its brightness. It was a lot different face from that of the child who had asked the question so long ago. It was serious with its question, an' it looked like the face of a woman. This was the first time she had mentioned the subject since I'd been back, an' I hadn't thought she dwelt on it any more; but I saw now that it lay close up to her heart, an' was the one thing she never could ride away from. "I'm purt' nigh fifteen," she went on. "Fifteen is a goodly age," I sez, but not sarcastic. I was thinkin' of Jabez an' myself that mornin', an' wonderin' if age cut so much figger after all. "Do you an' your dad ever talk about your mother any more?" I asked her.

"Not much," she said. "When one wants to know all, and one don't want to tell any, the' ain't much satisfaction in talkin' about—about even your own mother. Don't you still miss your mother?"

"Well, I wouldn't like to tell everybody," sez I, "but I sure do. Why, if the' was any way on earth that I could go back to her, I'd sure go—this very minute."

"At least you know about her. If I just knew about my mother it might be all right. You can't seem to get close to even a mother when you don't know a single thing about her. If you know people well, you can tell what they'd do under any kind of conditions, an' if you know what they have done, an' what they've been through, you know purty well what they are; but when you don't know anything at all, it makes it hard, awful hard."

I didn't have anything to say to her that would help, so I didn't say anything; an' after we had ridden on a while she said, "Happy, I don't want you to be a business man. The Easterners that rile me up worse than any other kind are the business men. They allus calculate how a thing could be turned into money. Why, if one of 'em lived out here he'd put a cash value on of Mount Savage. They allus make me think o' Dombey."

"What was th' about that buckskin mustang to make you think of a business man?" sez I, thinkin' she meant a little ridin' pony she used to have.

"I don't mean Dobbins," sez she, "I mean a character out of a book. He was such a good business man that he let most of life slip by him. I don't want you to do that." "Well, I'll try not to," sez I, "an' it may be that beginnin' late in life like I am, I won't become enough of a business man to get that way; but the' is one thing sure—I 'm through with my nonsense. I'm not goin' around playin' like a boy any more, I'm goin' to start in an' stick to business all this summer, an' see what comes of it."

"Where you goin' to start in?" sez she.

"How do I know?" sez I. "I'm just goin' to knock around till I meet up with a business openin', an' then I 'm goin' to put my full might into it till I know the whole game."

"I don't believe that's the way they do it," sez she. "These ones that I've heard braggin' about bein' business men don't look to me as if they ever did much knockin' around. They generally have everything all planned out when they begin, and then follow out the plans. Are you goin' to start in some town or go into a big city?"

"Well, I can tell you more about it when I get back," sez I. "I stayed three days in San Francisco oncet, but I didn't like it—it was too cramped up. I'm thinkin' o' headin' that way though."

"Well, as soon as you've give business a good fair try-out, you'll come back here an' tell us about it, won't you?" sez she. The sun had dropped by this time; but I could still make out her face in the twilight. The eyes were big an' soft an' glisteny, the lips were parted an' were tremblin' a little; it was a brave little face, but it looked lonesome. Something began to tighten around my heart, an' I didn't want to go; but I had put my hands to the plow, an' I didn't intend to back-track till I'd turned one full furrow. "Yes," I sez. "Honor bright, just as soon as I've give it a fair trial I'll come back an' let you know."

"You'll come before it snows if you can, won't you?" she sez, an' I nodded.

Well, for my part, I'd rather quarrel when I'm goin' to break any ties. I stayed for five meals after that, but they was uncommon dismal. We all tried to act as if everything was runnin' to suit us, an' we all made a successful failure of it. When at last I was ready to leave, Jabez shook my hand and said, "Now this is just a vacation, Happy. Have your outing an' then come back an' settle down here. Do you want to take your money with you, or leave it in the bank until you decide to invest it?"

"What money?" sez I.

He grinned. "Oh, you'll make a business man all right. Don't you remember givin' me six hundred dollars after you came back from the Pan Handle? Well, it's been in the bank ever since, an' it's grew some, I reckon."

"Well, let her keep on growin'," sez I. "I'm goin' to learn the business before I invest in it."

"That's sense," sez he. "Did you ever have any experience?"

"I was clerk in a restaurant once," sez I; "but I didn't like it, an' I don't reckon I'll go into the restaurant business."