come in again unless I ring.
I'm out if anybody calls."

When Nelton had closed the door, Lewis spread the letter on his knee and
read:

Dear Lew:

All is well with your dad at last. I'm a poor hand to talk and a
poorer to write, for my finger is crooked to hold a trigger, not a
pen. But he gave me it to do. Don't take it too hard that a man with
only plain words is blunt. Your father is gone.

I don't have to tell you that in the last few weeks before he left
you your dad grew old. He's grown old before, but never as old as
that. The other times, the mere sight and smell of Africa started
his blood again. But this time he stayed old--until to-day.

To-day we were out after elephant, and your dad had won the toss for
first shot. We hadn't gone a mile from camp when a lone bull buffalo
crossed the trail, and your dad tried for him--a long, quick shot.
The bullet only plowed his rump. The bull charged up the wind
straight for us, and before the thunder of him got near enough to
drown a shout, your dad yelled out "He's mine, Ive! He's mine!" I
held my fire, God help me; so did your dad--held it till the bull
had passed the death-line. You know with charging buffalo there's
more to stop than just life. There's weight and momentum and there's
a rage that no other, man or beast, can equal.

Your dad got him--got him with the perfect shot,--but not before the
bull had passed the death-line. And so, dear boy, they broke even, a
life for a life. And your dad was glad. With the bones of his body
crushed to a pulp, he could smile as I've never seen him smile
before. He pulled me down close to him and he said: "Bury me
here--right here, Ive, and tell my boy I stopped to take on a
side-tracked car. That's a part of our language. He'll understand."

Lewis's eyes went blind over his father's words, his father's message.
"Tell my boy I stopped to take on a side-tracked car." Half across the
world those words carried him back and back over half of life to a
rattling train, a boy, and the wondrous stranger, speaking: "Every man
who goes through the stress of life has need of an individual
philosophy... Life to me is like this train; a lot of sections and a lot
of couplings... Once in a while your soul looks out of the window and
sees some long-forgotten, side-tracked car beckoning to be coupled on
again. If you try to go