t. But he's got to have a name."

"Alice and I were talkin' about that the other night," replied the ex
cow-hand. "She had some flossy ones: Emperor, Commander, President, en
sich, but I vetoed that trash, the colt couldn't carry 'em and live. I
suggested Red, er Monty, er some sich. Thar we adjourned and left the
colt without a moniker. What's yer notion of a name fer this little
hoss?"

"I just can't think of the right one," said Davy resignedly. "It
wouldn't do to name him after some of the folks around here, that
would mix things up. The circus folks have worn out such names as
Barnum, Ringling, Robinson, Bailey, Coles, Sells, Barnes, Wallace, and
others and they don't fit a small hoss anyhow. I am in hopes that this
fine, smart Adine girl at the B-line has some sort of a suggestion.
Maybe, she's got a name that will do."

At a favorable place on the narrow road where the travelers could gaze
down on a bunch of the B-line cattle quietly grazing and where the
morning sun splashed varied colors on the distant hills, Davy pushed
his mount in front of old Gravy to halt the party. He flung his hand
in a wide sweep to include everything in sight.

"That's Paradise, Landy. It's what I've dreamed about for the last ten
years. It's the wide open spaces filled with all the variations in old
Nature's book of scenery. And best of all, there's no mob of nit-wits
to titter and smirk. It's my Heaven.

"Just now, two things blur the picture; I want to get this speech
thing off my hands, and I want to find a resister, a sass-back, a
contrary cuss, that will argue back at me. I want to keep him nearby
to remind me of old times. Why back two years ago, I used to visit old
Polo Garrett, who had the concession in the menagerie tent, just to
get cussed out. Polo's vocabulary was limited to sassing back. 'What's
eatin' ya?,' 'Git outa here,' 'Who's a-running this dump?' 'Whar do ya
git that stuff?' were his mildest phrases. When I got fed up on a
bunch of simpering women and their, 'ain't he cute?' stuff, all I had
to do was to barge in on Polo and get cussed out and learn that the
world wasn't all gush and guff.

"And particularly I need this 'argufyer' right out here now. I'm
getting tired of having my own way. The people are too kind, too
considerate, regard me as a child to be petted and pampered. There's
too much mushy sentiment. A day or two ago, I told Mrs. Gillis my life
history. It was mushy and without climax. She wanted