ouble that sticks with me until I get back here to the
mountains where it disappears entirely. Yes sir! When I hit the table
lands of Denver, Pocatello, Casper, Rawling, Laramie, or this town,
old Sinus passes right out of the system. For the last five years I
have been planning to come to these Highlands and dig in--where
humanity is the scarcest. Just awhile ago, you described the exact
spot of my dreams. Now what's your reaction? Can I do it?"

"Do you mean that you would want to spend the winter with me, back in
the hills?" The big man's question was quietly put but he stopped
eating, awaiting the answer.

"Sure, that's what I mean. Next winter, next summer, and then some. I
want to get away from this," waving his hand in a circle to include
the showgrounds. "And get to that," and he pointed west. "I want to
get out where I can wear overalls; have a dog--or maybe five dogs--out
where I can ride a hoss and chaw scrap-tobacco and spit like a man. I
want to get away from being gawked at during all my waking hours. This
thing here, is getting on my nerves. I feel like I want to commit
murder when a simpering Jane looks at me, snickers and says, 'ain't he
cute?' I want a ball bat to club every country jake doctor that looks
me over and asks about my pituitary gland. Gee, gosh, but I do want to
get away from that. I want to exchange these human nitwits for cows,
calves, sheep, hosses,--broncho hosses, pintos--but not little
round-bellied shetlands. I want to boss around among chickens, geese,
turkeys, pigs--"

"How about a couple of burros?" interrupted the listener.

"That's it! Burros! I hadn't thought of burros--me on one of
'em--slapping with my hat to get two miles to the gallon! That's it,
burros! Two of them is better!"

"And how about snows? There may be a snow yet this month that is
deeper than you are tall."

"Whoopee for the snow!" yelled the midget. "Me with a mackinaw and
boots, and mittens and a shovel. Snow! Clean white snow! I love it!
But I haven't seen any clean snow for years. All that you ever see now
is the dirty slush that they scrape off the streetcar tracks. I sure
would be disappointed, Mister Welborn, if you didn't have a lot of
clean snow. And you have some sort of a shack, don't you? And we can
cut a lot of wood, and have plenty of blankets--en books and
magazines. And we can haul out a lot of grub, and a first-aid kit and
such. And you don't have a big family, do you, Mister Welborn, an