"I'm for standin' by my friend," says the Doctor. "I'll bet you up to
the first of January."

"Got you," says Steve. "You know where you can borrow chewin', anyhow.
Any other gentleman want part of this?"

Steve had money he'd drew out of his poker game up-town, so the rest of
us stood not to live high until after January first, if Foxey Bill
didn't lick that sheep. We didn't believe he would, but he carried our
money.

Well, sir, it was a tough time waitin' for the combat to come off.
Bill simply despised the sheep. Couldn't stand near to him. The only
time he'd stay by the house was when the sheep was off somewheres.
And, of course, it was strictly against the rules for any person to
aid, abet, or help either warrior, or interfere in any way, shape, or
manner.

I was two mile out from camp one day, when I heard "Ke-bang, ke-bang,
ke-bang-ety, bang-bang-bang-bang!" The Doctor was losin' off all the
guns in the shack to once. I hollered to Steve, him to Windy, and then
we flew for home, leavin' the calves to their own responsibilities for
a while.

The other boys was on hand when we arrived, their faces shinin' with
excitement, and yellin' to us for the love of Moses to shake a leg
before it was too late.

Poor Billy was pickin' himself up, after rollin' over three times, and
the durned ram was prancin' away, wigglin' his tail like little boys
does their fingers, with a thumb to the nose.

[Illustration: "The durned ram was prancin' away"]

The Doctor explained to us, whilst we was waitin' for the next jar.
"There's Bill," says he, "eatin' his meal out of his half-a-barrel as
quiet and decent a citizen as you'll find anywheres. That's his grub
and he don't like grass. Well, what must that quar'lsome hunk of horns
and mutton do, but try to shove him away from there. Mind you, that
ram does like grass, and he's got several hundred thousand square mile
of it to lunch on--but no, sir! What he must have is a hunk of bread
out of Billy's barrel. Now, Billy's no hog--he lets him have the piece
of bread--then the ram wants the hull barrel; hoops, staves, and all.
That's too hootin' goldarn many for anybody to stand, by ninety-nine
per cent., so Bill slams him one. The ram walks off and fetches him a
swat like hittin' a side of beef with a fourteen-foot board. Poor old
Bill rolls three yards. Then he takes after the brute, but the ram
runs away as usual. Billy thinks the fight is over and goes on wi