jest's
fair as could be."

"G'wan, he flummuxed jest's _I_ cut loose!"

"Well, boys," called the leader, impatiently, "get along!"

A man came forward, and silently threw a loop about Severne's neck. In
Wyoming they hang horse-thieves. Severne realised this, and told them
all about everything. They listened to him, and laughed delightedly.
Never had they hanged such a funny horse-thief. They appreciated his
efforts to amuse them, and assured him often that he was a peach. When
he paused, they encouraged him to say some more. At every new disclosure
they chuckled with admiration, as though at a tremendous but splendid
lie. Severne was getting more realistic experience in ten minutes than
he had had in all his previous life; but realistic experience does not
do one much good at the end of a rope on top of a Wyoming mountain.
Then, after a little, they deftly threw the coil of rope over the limb
of a tree, and hung him up, and left him. They did not shoot him full of
holes, as is the usual custom. He had been a funny horse-thief, so in
return they were lenient. Severne kicked. "Dancin' good," they observed,
as they turned the corner.

Around the corner they met the frantic James. They cut Severne down, and
worked over him for some time. Then they carried him down to Placer
Creek, and worked over him a lot more. The Triangle X boys were
distinctly aggrieved. They had applauded those splendid lies, and now
they turned out not to be lies at all, but merely an extremely crazy
sort of truth. They relieved their feelings by getting very drunk and
shooting out the lights.

It took Severne a week to get over it. Ten days after that he returned
East. He had finished a masterpiece. The flight down the canon was
pictured so vividly that you could almost hear the crack of the pistols,
and the hero's sentiments were so well described that in reading about
them you became excited yourself. Severne read it three times, and he
thought it as good the third time as the first. Then he copied it all
out on the typewriter. This is the severest test a writer can give his
work. The most sparkling tale loses its freshness when run through the
machine, especially if the unfortunate author cannot make the thing go
very fast. It seemed as good even after this ordeal.

"Behold," said he, congratulating himself, "this is the best story I
ever wrote! Blamed if it isn't one of the best stories I ever _read_!
Your romanticists claim that the reali