mber and--talk too much. Come on."

We single-footed it down the hillside. The party stopped and drawed
together, four men quietly making a rank in front. That crowd had
walked barefoot.

We come to twenty yards of 'em in silence; then a tall lad swung out
towards us.

"How, Kola!" says I, wavin' my hand pleasant.

"How do you do!" says he, as if it wouldn't break his heart, no matter
what the answer was.

"Why, nicely, thank you to hell," says I. "What's doin'? Horse race?"

"Probably," says he; then kind of yawning: "We're not expectin' company
this morning."

"Well," I answered, "it's the unexpected always happens, except the
exceptions. You talk like a man that's got something on his mind."

Don't think I'd lost my wits and was pickin' a row to no advantage.
I'll admit the gent riled me some, but the point I had in view was what
old Judge Hinky used to call "shifting the issue." I wanted to make
one stab at just one man--not the whole party--on grounds that the rest
of the crowd, who was plainly all good two-handed punchers, would see
was perfectly fair. And I intended to land that stab so's they'd see I
was no trifler. It was my bad luck that not a soul in the crowd knew
me--even by reputation, or my hair would have made it easy for me. So
I put a little ginger in the tone of my voice.

"My friend," says the tall lad, "I wouldn't advise you to get gay with
us. I would advise you to move right on--or I'll move you."

He played to me, you see. If he'd said, "_We_'ll move you," I'd had to
chaw with him some more. Now I had him. Right under the harmless
bundle of old clothes dangling from the saddle horn was the gun I'd
borrowed from Ike--Mary Ann's twin sister, full of cartridges loaded by
Ike himself--no miss-fire government issue. The next second that gun
had its cold, hard eye upon Long Jim in front of me.

Whilst my hands seemed carelessly crossed on the horn, my right was
really closed on the gun.

"I like to see a man back his advice," says I. "It's your move. Don't
any other gentleman get restless with his hands, or I'll make our
Christian brother into a collection of holes. Now, you ill-mannered
brute," I says, "I don't care what your business is: it's my business
to see that you give me civil answers to civil questions."

He shrunk some. He was too durned important, anyhow, that feller.

"Quick!" says I. "Lord of the Mormon hosts! Do you think I'm going to
yappee with you