get away from here and go to some other part of the car,"
whispered Dick.

"No, we'll just stay here an' spite him. He'll wake up after a while an'
be glad to listen to ther story. So here goes!

"I was punchin' cow's down on the Pecos one summer fer ther Crazy B
Ranch. We had eight punchers in ther bunch, a good chuck wagon, an' easy
work, so I wuz pretty well suited, an' thet summer I gained twelve
pounds, even if it wuz a hundred an' forty in ther shade, which we hed
forgotten ter bring along with us."

"Forgotten to bring what?" asked the boy.

"Our shade. Yer see, down in thet country ther sun is so strong thet
every one carries his own shade, fer there isn't a tree in ther whole
country big enough ter cast a shadder o' any sort. Out on ther ranches,
at certain seasons o' ther year, they serve out shade ter ther men jest
ther same ez they do bacon an' saleratus ter ther outfit thet goes out
herdin'."

Dick looked seriously at Bud for a moment, hardly knowing whether or not
to doubt him, but Bud's face was as grave as a deacon's.

"I don't understand it, I'm sure," he said. "But where do they get the
shade to give to the men?"

"That's easy enough. It's always gathered on dark nights, generally late
in ther fall er in ther winter, so thet it'll be real cool."

"But where do they get it?"

"What--ther shade? Why, they just go out an' gather it off the ground in
thin shapes, kinder longer than broad. It can be rolled up just like a
blanket, an' carried behind ther saddle. It's gathered in ther cold
months. Ye've heard o' ther 'cool shade.' Well, that's why they gather
it late in the year. Summer shade is no good, because it's too warm."

"But what is it like?"

"Oh, it's black, an' I hear they strip it off close ter ther ground. We
don't get no shade like it in this part o' ther country. Ther only place
what hez it is ther West, whar it's needed most."

"But how about the Pecos?"

"Sho! I almost fergot it, didn't I, while teachin' yer something erbout
ther way they do things in Arizony an' her sister-in-law, Noo Mexico?
Now I'm off, shore.

"Ping-pong Martin wuz in ther outfit thet year. Mebbe yer knows him?"
Bud looked at the small boy inquiringly, much to his embarrassment.

"No, sir, I never heard of him before."

"Well, no matter, but this Ping-pong cuss, he had a personal friend, a
goat, what couldn't no more be shook than a sore thumb, and had follered
Ping off ter ther wars, so to speak.