king and prominent trait of New Yorkers.

"The most visible and peculiar trait of New York folks," answered Bud,
"is New York. Most of 'em has New York on the brain. They have heard
of other places, such as Waco, and Paris, and Hot Springs, and London;
but they don't believe in 'em. They think that town is all Merino. Now
to show you how much they care for their village I'll tell you about
one of 'em that strayed out as far as the Triangle B while I was
working there.

"This New Yorker come out there looking for a job on the ranch. He
said he was a good horseback rider, and there was pieces of tanbark
hanging on his clothes yet from his riding school.

"Well, for a while they put him to keeping books in the ranch store,
for he was a devil at figures. But he got tired of that, and asked for
something more in the line of activity. The boys on the ranch liked
him all right, but he made us tired shouting New York all the time.
Every night he'd tell us about East River and J. P. Morgan and the
Eden Musee and Hetty Green and Central Park till we used to throw tin
plates and branding irons at him.

"One day this chap gets on a pitching pony, and the pony kind of
sidled up his back and went to eating grass while the New Yorker was
coming down.

"He come down on his head on a chunk of mesquit wood, and he didn't
show any designs toward getting up again. We laid him out in a tent,
and he begun to look pretty dead. So Gideon Pease saddles up and
burns the wind for old Doc Sleeper's residence in Dogtown, thirty
miles away.

"The doctor comes over and he investigates the patient.

"'Boys,' says he, 'you might as well go to playing seven-up for his
saddle and clothes, for his head's fractured and if he lives ten
minutes it will be a remarkable case of longevity.'

"Of course we didn't gamble for the poor rooster's saddle--that was
one of Doc's jokes. But we stood around feeling solemn, and all of us
forgive him for having talked us to death about New York.

"I never saw anybody about to hand in his checks act more peaceful
than this fellow. His eyes were fixed 'way up in the air, and he was
using rambling words to himself all about sweet music and beautiful
streets and white-robed forms, and he was smiling like dying was a
pleasure.

"'He's about gone now,' said Doc. 'Whenever they begin to think they
see heaven it's all off.'

"Blamed if that New York man didn't sit right up when he heard the Doc
say that.

"'Say,'