to the ranch, expectin' when he
saw it, he'd want to buckle on his guns and start down after the gent
that did it.

You couldn't have blamed him much if he had; for Hank's features wa'n't
cut on what you might call classic lines. He looked more like a copy
of an old master that had been done by a sign painter on the side of a
barn. Not that he was so mortal homely, but his colour scheme was kind
of surprisin'. His complexion was a shade or two lighter than a new
saddle, except his neck, which was a flannel red, with lovely brown
speckles on it; and his eyes was sort of buttermilk blue, with eyebrows
that you had to guess at. His chief decoration though, was a lip
whisker that was a marvel--one of these ginger coloured droopers that
took root way down below his mouth corners and looked like it was there
to stay.

But up on the ranch and down in Bedelia I never heard anyone pass
remarks on Hank Merrity's looks. He wa'n't no bad man either, but as
mild and gentle a beef raiser as you'd want to see. He seemed to be
quite a star among the cow punchers, and after I'd got used to his
peculiar style of beauty I kind of took to him, too.

The picture didn't r'ile him a bit. He sat there lookin' at it for a
good five minutes without sayin' a word, them buttermilk eyes just
starin', kind of blank and dazed. Then he looks up, as pleased as a
kid, and says, "Wall, I'll be cussed! Mighty slick, ain't it?"

Next he hollers for Reney--that was Mrs. Merrity. She was a good
sized, able bodied wild rose, Reney was; not such a bad looker, but a
little shy on style. A calico wrapper with the sleeves rolled up, a
lot of crinkly brown hair wavin' down her back, and an old pair of
carpet slippers on her feet, was Reney's mornin' costume. I shouldn't
wonder but what it did for afternoon and evenin' as well.

Mrs. Merrity was more tickled with the picture than Hank. She stared
from the paper to him and back again, actin' like she thought Hank had
done somethin' she ought to be proud of, but couldn't exactly place.

"Sho, Hank!" says she. "I wisht they'd waited until you'd put on your
Sunday shirt and slicked up a little."

He was a real torrid proposition when he did slick up. I saw him do it
once, a couple of nights before I broke trainin', when they was goin'
to have a dance up to the ranch. His idea of makin' a swell toilet was
to take a hunk of sheep tallow and grease his boots clear to the tops.
Then he ducks his hea