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"Well," he agreed, "I do guess ther' was fruit ther', but I don't guess it was a fruit ranch exactly. Maybe it was sort of mixed farmin'. Howsum, that don't matter a heap. Y'see, ther' was heaps an' heaps of animals, an' bugs, an' spiders, an' things an' jest one man." "Ther' was a woman," corrected the irrepressible Sandy. "That's dead sure. They got busy on one of the man's ribs an' made her.
Howsum, mebbe ther' wus reason. Old Joe, he wus the daddy o' the lot. Jim Marlin used to say as Joe most gener'ly used a black lead when he writ his letters; didn't fancy wastin' ink. Mebbe that's kind o' zaggerated, but I guess he wus the next thing to a fact'ry o' blottin' paper, sure.
Joe Brand is kind o' curious, guess he may as well know first as last." "I didn't mean no offense, Bill," apologized the miner, flushing and speaking hurriedly. Bill promptly became sarcastic. "Course you didn't. Folks buttin' in never don't mean no offense. Howsum, guess my claim's on the banks o' Sufferin' Creek. Maybe you feel better now?"
"I don't stand fer questions from no remittance guy. Gee! things is gittin' pretty low-down when it comes to that." "Maybe a remittance man ain't a first-class callin'," said Toby, his grin replaced by a hot flush. "But if it comes to that I'd say a lazy loafin' bum ain't a heap o' credit noways neither. Howsum, them things don't alter matters any.
What the devil is his object?" Jimmy Parker's face flushed under his exasperation. "I'd give a heap to git a cinch on him," Seth replied thoughtfully. "He's smart. His tracks are covered every time. Howsum, if things git doin' this spring, I've a notion we'll run him down mebbe later." The Agent was all interest. "Have you discovered anything?" "Wal nothin' that counts your way.
An' when he thinks that way, why, I don't guess he figgers to find bad wher' he reckoned ther' was only good. Howsum, it kind o' seems to me human nature's as li'ble to set a feller cryin' as laffin' most times. This thing come over that Lightfoot gang. We got most of 'em, and those we got if they wa'an't pumped full of lead out of hand they was hanged. Sort o' queer, too, the way we got 'em.
Y' see I was tellin' her as I wus runnin' a bit of a hog ranch them times, an', on o-casions, we used to give parties. The pertickler party I wus referrin' to wus a pretty wholesome racket. The boys got good an' drunk, an' they got slingin' the lead frekent 'fore daylight come around. Howsum, it wus the cause o' the trouble as I wus gassin' 'bout.
"'Bout the leddy?" inquired the cowpuncher. "You've struck it." "Wal, git right along. I'd sooner it wus you than me, I guess. Howsum, I'll set right hyar. Mebbe I'll be handy ef you're wantin' me." Tresler laughed. "Oh, it's all right," he said. "I'm not dealing with Jake." "Nope," replied the other, settling himself on a saddle-tree. Then, after a thoughtful pause, "which is regret'ble."
Howsum, they call you real white buck neches, an' I 'lows ther' ain't no redskin in the world to stan' beside you on the trail o' a fur." The two men laughed at their friend's rough tribute to their attainments. Ralph was the quieter of the two, but his appreciation was none the less. He was simple-hearted, but he knew his own worth when dealing with furs. Nick laughed loudly.
Then he checked himself, and suddenly became quite grieved. "Wal, Zip, I wouldn't ha' b'lieved it. I sure wouldn't. But ther' life's jest self. It's all self. You're like all the rest. I've been chasin' a patch o' good pay dirt ever since I bin around Sufferin' Creek, an' it's only now I've found one to suit me. I sure thought you'd let me in on it. I sure did. Howsum, you won't.
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