“What becomes of the Lance?  It’s two weeks later when that scientist is waited on by a delegation of Osages.  They reminds him that Sunbright has two sisters, the same bein’ now widows by virchoo of the demise of that egreegious Black Cloud.  Also, the Black Cloud was rich; his teepee was sumptuous, an’ he’s left a buckskin coat with ivory elk teeth sewed onto it plenty as stars at night.  The coat is big medicine; moreover thar’s the milk-white big medicine bronco with red eyes.  The Osage delegation puts forth these trooths while the Lance sets cross-laiged on a b’arskin an’ smokes willow bark with much dignity.  In the finish, the Osage outfit p’ints up to the fact that their tribe is shy a medicine man, an’ a gent of the Lance’s accomplishments who can charm anamiles an’ lame broncos will be a mighty welcome addition to the Osage body politic.  The Lance lays down his pipe at this an’ says, ‘It is enough!’ An’ the next day he sallies over an’ weds them two relicts of Black Cloud an’ succeeds to that dead necromancer’s estate an’ both at one fell swoop.  The two widows chuckles an’ grins after the manner of ladies, to get a new husband so swift; an’ abandonin’ his lodge on the Polecat the Lance sets up his game at Greyhoss, an’ onless he’s petered, he’s thar dealin’ it yet.”

CHAPTER VIII.

Tom and Jerry; Wheelers.

“Obstinacy or love, that a-way, when folks pushes ’em to excess, is shore bad medicine.  Which I’d be aheap loath to count the numbers them two attribootes harries to the tomb.  Why, son, it’s them sentiments that kills off my two wheel mules, Tom an’ Jerry.”

The Old Cattleman appeared to be on the verge of abstract discussion.  As a metaphysician, he was not to be borne with.  There was one method of escape; I interfered to coax the currents of his volubility into other and what were to me, more interesting channels.

“Tell me of the trail; or a story about animals,” I urged.  “You were saying recently that perfect systems of oral if not verbal communication existed among mules, and that you had listened for hours to their gossip.  Give me the history of one of your freighting trips and what befell along the trail; and don’t forget the comment thereon—­wise, doubtless, it was—­of your long-eared servants of the rein and trace-chain.”

“Tell you what chances along the trail?  Son, you-all opens a wide-flung range for my mem’ry to graze over.  I might tell you how I’m lost once, freightin’ from Vegas into the Panhandle, an’ am two days without water—­blazin’ Jooly days so hot you couldn’t touch tire, chain, or bolt-head without fryin’ your fingers.  An’ how at the close of the second day when I hauls in at Cabra Springs, I lays down by that cold an’ blessed fountain an’ drinks till I aches.  Which them two days of thirst terrorises me to sech degrees that for one plumb year tharafter, I never meets up with water when I don’t drink a quart, an’ act like I’m layin’ in ag’in another parched spell.