“And Shadder never lost his patience at all, though it must have been kind of trying to be made into such a holy show before the kind of people he used to be used to.  All he’d say was ’Bet your life, old boy!’ Well, it was right enough too, as Smithy had nursed him through small-pox one winter up in the Shoshonee country, and mighty near starved himself to death feeding Shadder out of the slim grub stock, when the boy was on the mend; still some people would have forgot that.

“But did your uncle Red get under the influence of strong drink?  Did he?  Oh my!  Oh my!  I wish I could make it clear to you.  The vigilantes put after a horse thief once in Montana, and they landed on him in a butt-end canon, and there was all the stock with the brands on ’em as big as a patent medicine sign, as the lad hadn’t had time to stop for alterations.

“‘Well,’ says they, ‘what have you got to say for yourself?’ He looked at them brands staring him in the face, and he bit off a small hunk of chewing ‘Ptt-chay!’ Says he, ’Gentlemen, I’m at a loss for words!’ And they let him go, as a good joke is worth its price in any man’s country.  I’m in that lad’s fix; I ain’t got the words to tell you how seriously drunk I was on that occasion.  I remember putting for what I thought was the hotel, and settling down, thinking there must be a lulu of a scrap in the barroom from the noise; then somebody gave me a punch in the ribs and says, ‘Where’s your ticket?’ and I don’t know what I said nor what he said after that, but it must have been all right.  Then it got light and I met a lot of good friends I never saw before nor since; then more noise and trouble and at last I woke up.—­in a hotel bedroom, all right, but not the one I was used to.  I went to the window, heaved her open and looked out.  It was a bully morning and I felt A1.  There was a nice range of mountains out in front of me that must have come up during’ the night.  ’I’d like to know where I am,’ I thinks.  ’But somebody will tell me before long, so there is no use worrying about that—­the main point is, have I been touched?’ I dug down into my jeans and there wasn’t a thing of any kind to remember me by.  ‘No,’ I says to myself, ’I ain’t been touched—­I’ve been grabbed—­they might have left me the price of a breakfast!  Well, it’s a nice looking country, anyhow!’ So down I walks to the office.  A cheerful-seeming plump kind of a man was sitting behind the desk.  ‘Hello!’ says he, glancing up and smiling as I came in.  ‘How do you open up this morning?’

“‘Somebody saved me the trouble,’ says I.  ’I’m afraid I’ll have to give you the strong arm for breakfast.’

“He grinned wide.  ‘Oh, it ain’t as bad as that, I hardly reckon,’ says he.  He dove into a safe and brought out a cigar-box.

“‘When a gentleman’s in the condition you was in last night,’ he says, ’I always make it a point to go through his clothes and take out anything a stranger might find useful, trusting that there won’t be no offence the next morning.  Here’s your watch and the rest of your valuables, including the cash—­count your money and see if it’s right.’