I cut for the place where the Injuns seemed thinnest, lifting myself up till I didn’t weigh fifteen pound, and breathing only when necessary.  We got along first-rate until we reached the edge of ’em, and then Laddy had to stick his foot in a gopher-hole, and walloped around there like a whale trying to climb a tree.

Some dam cuss of an Injun threw a handful of hay on the fire, and, as it blazed up, the whole gang spotted me.

I unlimbered my gun, sent the irons into Laddy, and we began to walk.

I didn’t like to make for the ranch, as I knew the boys were short-handed, so I pointed north, praying to the good Lord that I’d hit some kind of settlement before I struck the North Pole.

Well, we left those Injuns so far behind that there wasn’t any fun in it.  I slacked up, patting myself on the back; and, as the trouble seemed all over, I was just about to turn for the ranch, when I heard horses galloping, and as the moon came out a little I saw a whole raft of redskins a-boiling up a draw not half a mile away.  That knocked me slab-sided.  It looked like I got the wrong ticket every time the wheel turned.

I whooped it up again, swearing I wouldn’t stop this deal short of a dead sure thing.  We flew through space—­Laddy pushing a hole in the air like a scart kiyote making for home and mother.

A ways down the valley I spotted a little shack sitting all alone by itself out in the moonlight.  I headed for it, hollering murder.

A man came to the door in his under-rigging.

“Hi, there!  What’s eating you?” he yells.

“Injuns coming, pardner!  The country’s just oozing Injuns!  Better get a wiggle on you!”

“All right—­slide along, I’ll ketch up to you,” says he.

I looked back and saw him hustling out with his saddle on his arm.  “He’s a particular kind of cuss,” I thought; “bareback would suit most people.”

Taking it a little easier for the next couple of miles, I gave him a chance to pull up.

We pounded along without saying anything for a spell, when I happened to notice that his teeth were chattering.

“Keep your nerve up, pardner!” says I.  “Don’t you get scared—­we’ve got a good start on ’em.”

He looked at me kind of reproachful.

“Scared be derned!” says he.  “I reckon if you was riding around this nice cool night in your drawers, your teeth ’ud rattle some, too.”

I took a look at him, and saw, sure enough, while he had hat, coat, and boots on, the pants was missing.  Well, if it had been the last act, I’d have had to laugh.

“Couldn’t find ’em nohow,” says he; “hunted high and low, jick, Jack, and the game—­Just comes to my mind now that I had ’em rolled up and was sleeping on ’em.  I don’t like to go around this way’—­I feel as if I was two men, and one of ’em hardly respectable.”

“Did you bring a gun with you?”