"'Well, I'm very anxious to have a good long talk with you about sheep,' says he. 'I've been informed that you had a long experience in that line in--er--Nevverdah----'
"'Nevverdah?' says I. 'Oh!--Nevada. I beg your pardon--I've got in the habit of pronouncing in that way. It wasn't Nevada, by the way--it was Texas--but that's only a matter of a Europe or so. Yes, I met a sheep or two in that country, I'm sorry to say.'
"'I--er--think of engaging in the business, dontcher know,' says he, relaxing into his first method of speech; 'and should like to consult you professionally.'
"'All right, sir!' says I. 'I'm one of the easiest men to consult west of any place east. Can't you stay now and get the load off your mind?'
"'Well--_no_,' he says to me very confidentially. 'You see, that dog is a great pet of my wife's, and I'm also afraid she will be a little worried by my long absence, so----'
"'I see, sir--I see,' I answered him. 'Well, come around again and we'll talk sheep.'
"'Thank you--thank you _so_ much,' says he, and pops up on his horse. Then again, without any warning, he broke into a haw-haw-haw! as he threw a glance at the family, who sat around eyeing him. 'You were quite right about that _cat_, you know,' says he. 'Capital! Capital! But a _little_ rough on the dog.' And off he goes, bobbity-bob, bobbity-bob.
"'Where'd you tag that critter, Red?' says Wind-River. 'My mind's wanderin'.'
"'He comes down the draw much the graceful way he's going up it,' says I. 'From where, and why how, I dunno. But I kind of like him against my better instincts, Windy.'
"Windy spit thoughtfully at a fly fifteen foot away. 'I shouldn't have time to hate him much myself,' says he.
"And there you are. That's how I met Brother Sett, and the Big Bend Ranch stuck her head out of the shell."
"Bhooooooorrr! Bhooooooooooooooorrrrr!" It was the hollow, melancholy, wild beast-howl of a fog-horn. We were drifting upon a tragic coast, where the great waves slipped up the cliffs noiselessly, to disappear upon the other side. At the time, I was talking to a person who had just been a sort of composite of several of my friends, but was now a gaunt bay mule. "Isn't it co-o-ld?" I said to him, and shivered. He looked me sternly in the eye. "Get up!" said he. The vessel struck a rock and trembled violently. "Get up!" repeated the mule, and there was a menace in his voice now. "Bhooooooooooorrrrr!" moaned the fog-horn. This was dreadful. But worse followed. The waters gathered themselves and rose into a peak, the mule sliding swiftly to the apex, still holding me with his uncanny eyes. There came a shock, and Oscar said, "For the Lord's sake, kid! They've been braying away on that breakfast horn for the last five minutes. Hustle!"