krock
Flat. There's a thousand rifles an' nigh two million rounds of
cartridges. Guess he must be carryin' on a war of his own with them
Injuns. Know the name?"

Kars appeared to think profoundly.

"Seems to me I know the name. Can't just place it for---- Say--I've
got it. He's the partner of the feller the neches murdered up at Fort
Mowbray, on the Snake River. Sure, that explains it. Oh, yes. The
folks up that way are up against it. The neches are pretty darn bad."
He laughed. "Guess he's out for a war of extermination with such an
outfit as that."

"Seems like it." The skipper went on eating for some moments in
silence. His curiosity was satisfied. Nor did Kars attempt to break
the silence. He was thinking--thinking hard.

"It beats me," Dunne went on presently, "you folk who don't need to
live north of 'sixty.' What is it that keeps you chasing around in a
cold that 'ud freeze the vitals of a tin statue?"

Kars shook his head.

"You can search me," he said, with a shrug. "Guess it sort of gets in
the blood, though. There's times when I cuss it like you cuss the
waters that hand you your life. Then there's times when I love it
like--like a pup loves offal. You can't figger it out any more than
you can figger out why the sun and moon act foolish chasing each other
around an earth that don't know better than to spend its time buzzing
around on a pivot that don't exist. You can't explain these things any
more than you can explain the reason why no two folks can think the
same about things, except it is their own way of thinking it's the
right way. Nor why it is you mostly get rain when you're needin' sun,
and wind when you're needin' calm, and anyway it's coming from the
wrong quarter. If you guess you're looking for gold, it's a thousand
dollars to a dime you find coal, or drown yourself in a 'gush' of oil.
If you're married, an' you're looking for a son, it's a sure gamble you
get a gal. Most everything in life's just about as crazy as they'll
allow outside a foolish house, and as for life itself, well, it's a
darn nuisance anyway, but one you're mighty glad keeps busy your way."

At that moment, the speaking tube from the bridge emitted a sharp
whistle, and the skipper, with a broad smile on his weather-beaten
face, went to answer it.

The clatter of the winches ceased. The creaking of straining hawsers
lessened. The voices of men only continued their hoarse-throated
shoutings.