ore the event, and I welcomed
employment for my otherwise high-and-dry mind. Probably he meant the
railroad company; certainly something large had happened. Even as I
dismounted at the platform another hilarious cow-puncher came out of
the station, and, at once remarking, "They're going to leave us alone,"
sprang on his horse and galloped to the corrals down the line, where
some cattle were being loaded into a train. I went inside for my mail,
and here were four more cow-punchers playing with the agent. They had
got a letter away from him, and he wore his daily look of anxiety to
appreciate the jests of these rollicking people. "Read it!" they said to
me; and I did read the private document, and learned that the railroad
was going to waive its right to enforce law and order here, and would
trust to Separ's good feeling. "Nothing more," the letter ran, "will be
done about the initial outrage or the subsequent vandalisms. We shall
pass over our wasted outlay in the hope that a policy of friendship will
prove our genuine desire to benefit that section.

"'Initial outrage,'" quoted one of the agent' large playmates. "Ain't
they furgivin'?"

"Well," said I, "you would have some name for it yourself if you sent a
deputy sheriff to look after your rights, and he came back tied to the
cow-catcher!"

The man smiled luxuriously over this memory.

"We didn't hurt him none. Just returned him to his home. Hear about the
label Honey Wiggin pinned on to him? 'Send us along one dozen as per
sample.' Honey's quaint! Yes," he drawled judicially, "I'd be mad at
that. But if you're making peace with a man because it's convenient why,
your words must be pleasanter than if you really felt pleasant." He took
the paper from me, and read, sardonically: "'Subsequent vandalisms...
wasted outlay.' I suppose they run this station from charity to the
cattle. Saves the poor things walking so far to the other railroad
'Policy of friendship... genuine desire'--oh mouth-wash!" And, shaking
his bold, clever head, he daintily flattened the letter upon the head of
the agent. "Tubercle," said he (this was their name for the agent, who
had told all of us about his lungs), "it ain't your fault we saw their
fine letter. They just intended you should give it out how they wouldn't
bother us any more, and then we'd act square. The boys'll sit up late
over this joke."

Then they tramped to their horses and rode away. The spokesman had
hit the vital point une