“I was all alone,” sez Tank. “I had been up in the Spider Water country lookin’ for a favorite ridin’ pony; but my hoss broke a leg, and I packed my saddle and stuff on my head until my nerves began to swell. Then I threw the stuff away and hunted for a human. I roamed for weeks without comin’ across a white man, and my nerves got worse an’ worse. You know how it is with nerves; how they set up that dull ache along the back o’ your spinal cord until you get desperate, and long to bite and scratch and tear your feller-bein’s to pieces—well, I had ’em worse this time ’n ever I had ’em before; and they loosened up my brain-cells until my self-control oozed out and I longed to fling myself over a cliff. Have you got a match?”

Horace passed over his fresh cigar, and Tank lit his pipe and tossed this cigar into the fire also. Horace looked at it sadly for a moment; but he was game, and lit another.

“Finally,” sez Tank, “I came upon a lonely cabin at the bottom of a gorge; and in it was a little man who was minin’ for gold. He was about your build, except that toilin’ with pick and shovel had distributed his meat around to a better advantage, and he wore his whiskers complete, without any patch scraped off the chin. It was just night when I reached the cabin, and he invited me in to eat; which I am free to say I did until I was stuffed up to my swaller, and then we prepared to sleep.

“Now, a feller would nachely think I’d ’a’ gone right to sleep; but instead o’ this, my nerves began to twist an’ squirm an’ gnaw at me until I was almost beside myself; and after fightin’ it for several hours, I woke up the miner, and asked him as polite as a lady, if he wouldn’t rub my brow for a few minutes. Seems like when I’m nervous, the’ won’t nothin’ soothe me so quick as to have my brow rubbed; but this little coyote refused pointblank to do it.

“I finally got down on my knees and begged him to; but he still refused. He said he had fed me six meals at once and given me shelter, and this was as far as he’d go if my confounded nerves exploded and blew the place up. I was meek about it, I tried my best to ward off trouble; but just then a nerve up under my ear gave a wrench which twisted me all out o’ shape, and I lost patience. I seized that little cuss by the beard and I yanked him out on the floor, and I said to him—”

Tank had once been unusual gifted in framin’ up bright-colored profanity, but he had been shuttin’ down on it since the night he had helped to fake the hold-up on the Friar, and I thought he had lost the knack. This night, though, he seemed to find a spiritual uplift in tellin’ to Horace exactly what he had said to the lonely miner. Before he finished this part, he had used up all of Horace’s good cigars, as lighters, and the Eastener’s face had turned a palish blue. I’d be willin’ to bet that Tank made the swearin’ record that night; though of course, the’ ain’t any way to prove it.

When Tank couldn’t think of any new combinations, he covered his face and broke into tears. Horace sat and looked at him with his eyes poppin’ out. “Don’t you think you could go to sleep?” he asked after a bit.

“Sleep!” yelled Tank. “Sleep? I doubt if I ever do sleep again. I feel worse right now ’n I did that night in the gorge.”

“What did you finally do that time?” asked Horace.

“I hate to think of it,” sez Tank; and he put his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, and stared into the fire as though seein’ ghosts.

Horace watched him a while, and then he lit a cigar out of the second layer. He took one puff and then removed the cigar and stared at it. He tried another puff, and then threw it into the fire, where it spluttered up in a blue flame. He tried six more, and then said somethin’ I couldn’t quite catch and threw the whole box into the fire; while Tank continued to stare into it as though he had forgot the’ was any one else on earth.

“Let’s go to bed,” sez Horace.

“Have you got a match?” sez Tank, lookin’ around with a start. Horace took a burnin’ stick from the fire, and Tank lit his pipe with it; and from that on Horace kept a lighted stick handy.

“How in thunder did you get to sleep that night in the gorge?” demanded Horace, who was gettin’ impatient.

“Well,” sez Tank, “after I had told this unobligin’ little cuss exactly what I thought of him, he pulled out a gun and tried to shoot me—actually tried to shoot me in his own cabin, where I was his guest. My feelin’s were hurt worse ’n they’d ever been hurt before; but still I tried to calm myself; and if it hadn’t been for my nerves, I’d have gone out into that gorge in the dead o’ night, and never set eyes on his evil face again; but I couldn’t get control of myself, so I took his gun away from him and knocked him down with it. When he regained consciousness, he was in a repentant mood; and he consented to rub my head.

“He rubbed my head a while an’ I sank into a dreamless, health-given repose; but as soon as I was asleep, the traitorious sneak crept out an’ started to run. I fled after him as swift as I could, an’ caught him about two A. M. I had to twist his arms to make him come back with me; but when I had once got him back to the shack, I tied him good an’ tight, an’ made him rub my brow again. When he’d rub slow an’ gentle, I’d sleep peaceful an’ quiet; but the minute he’d quit, why, I’d wake up again; so he rubbed an’ rubbed an’ rubbed”—Tank smoothed his left hand gentle with his right, an’ spoke slow an’ whispery—“an’ I slept an’ slept an’ slept an’—”

The darn cuss said it so soothin’ an’ natural, that hanged if I didn’t fall asleep myself, though the last I remember, I was bitin’ my lips so I could stay awake an’ see the fun. I must have been asleep full an hour before I was woke up by Tank’s voice, raised in anger. I stuck my nose out o’ the tarp, an’ there was Tank kneelin’ straddle o’ the other bed which he had rolled up in the shape of a man. Horace was standin’ close by with his hands on his hips an’ lookin’ altogether droopy.

“I raised his head from the floor, like this,” said Tank, illustratin’ with the bed, “an’ then I beat it down on the planks o’ the floor; an’ then I raised it up again, an’ then I beat it down, an’ then I raised it up—”

I had to stuff a corner o’ the soogan into my mouth to keep from laughin’ out loud at the expression in Horace’s eyes; but Tank kept raisin’ that poor head an’ beatin’ it down again for so long that I fell asleep again without intendin’ to.

The next time I woke up Horace was speakin’. He was so earnest about it that at first I thought he had been weepin’; but he was simply tryin’ to make his voice winnin’ an’ persuadish.

“I’ll rub it,” he sez. “I’ll rub it soft an’ gentle, just like you say you want it rubbed. Come on, let me rub it.” I looked at Tank with his free eye rollin’ about as though it was follerin’ the antics of a delirious mosquito; and I’d just about as soon have rubbed the brow of a porcupine; but Horace was all perked up with sympathy.

“No,” sez Tank, sadly. “You’re a guest, an’ it wouldn’t be polite. If you was a stranger, now, why, I’d choke your heart out but what I made you rub it; but not a guest. No, I couldn’t do that. I’d wake Happy up an’ make him rub it; but he allus sleeps with a gun under his head, an’ he’s apt to shoot before he’s full awake.”

“Well, just let me try it a while,” sez Horace.

“I’m feared to,” sez Tank, beginnin’ to weaken. “If you was to start, an’ I was to fall asleep, an’ you was to quit, I might dream ’at you was that unobligin’ man which betrayed me back in the lonely shack; an’ I might strangle you or somethin’ before I came to my senses. Nope, the best plan is just to sit an’ chat here till daylight. My nerves is allus better after sun-up.”

“I don’t think I can stay awake much longer,” sez Horace, almost whimperin’.

“What?” sez Tank in surprise. “You claim to have nerves, an’ yet you can talk o’ fallin’ asleep at this time o’ night. Great Scott, man, you ain’t got no nerves! You are as flebmatic as a horn toad. Oh, I wish I could just fall sleepy for one minute.”

“Let me try rubbin’ your brow,” sez Horace, whose eyes were blinkin’ for sleep, but whose face was all screwed up into lines of worry at what was goin’ to happen to him after he had finally give in an’ drifted off.

“Well,” sez Tank, “I’ll let you try; but if you’re already sleepy, I doubt if any good comes of it. You sit there at the head o’ the bed, an’ I’ll lay my head in your lap, an’ you rub my brow soft an’ gentle. If I do get to sleepin’ natural, why o’ course the’ won’t be no harm done in you takin’ a few winks; but for the love o’ peace, don’t sleep sound.”

I blame near choked while they were gettin’ settled, ’cause Horace was one o’ those finicky cusses, an’ Tank’s head looked like a moth-eaten buffalo robe. Finally, however, Tank stretched out with the covers up around his neck an’ his head pillowed in Horace’s lap, and then Horace began to rub his brow as soft an’ gentle as he knew how.

“You don’t do it clingy enough,” sez Tank. “You want to just rest your fingers lightly, but still have ’em draw along so ’at they’ll give a little tingle. There, that’s better. Now then, I’ll lay as quiet as I can, an’ try to go to sleep.” Tank was doin’ such an earnest job, he had plumb fooled himself into believin’ it was mostly true.

He gave a start after layin’ quiet for five or ten minutes, an’ this put Horace on edge again; but Tank didn’t wake up. Horace had a saddle blanket around his shoulders; and the last I saw just before I fell asleep, myself, was Horace gently rubbin’ Tank’s brow, an’ lookin’ down careful for a change of expression. They made a curious sight with the firelight back of ’em.

It was grayin’ up for the dawn next time I woke up; and I’d had my sleep out, but when I stuck my nose out from under the tarp, I found it purty tol’able frosty. I knew it was my duty to roust out an’ keep Horace from gettin’ more sleep ’n my treatment for his nerves called for; but I was too comfortable, to pay much heed to the still, small voice of duty. At the same time I was curious to see what my boon comrades was up to, so I stretched my neck an’ took a look at ’em.

Horace had keeled over so that his elbow rested on Tank’s chest an’ his head rested on his hand; but the other hand was still on Tank’s brow, an’ I reckon Horace must have rubbed until he didn’t care whether it was sleep or death he drew, just so he got rid o’ keepin’ awake. Tank had reached up one hand so it circled Horace’s waist; and they made the most lovable group a body ever see.

While I was still watchin’ ’em, Horace’s arm gave out, an’ he settled down on top o’ Tank’s nose. In about two minutes Tank came to with a jump, an’ heaved Horace to the foot of the bed. Tank was really startled, an’ he came to his feet glarin’. “You blame little squab, you!” he yelled. “What are you tryin’ to do—smother me?”

Horace staggered to his feet, but he couldn’t get his eyes open more ’n a narrow slit. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Mr. Williams,” he blubbled like a drunk man. “I rubbed until I thought my hand would fall off at the wrist; but I reckon I must ’a’ dropped asleep. Lie down again, an’ I’ll rub you some more.”

“Too late,” sez Tank, “too late, too late. I never can sleep while daylight’s burnin’; but still, my nerves don’t get so dangerous until after nightfall; so we’ll just turn to an’ get breakfast.”

Well, I got up after yawnin’ a few times; and after askin’ if they had had a restful night, I started to get breakfast. Horace staggered about, gettin’ wood an’ water an’ doin’ what he was able to, while Tank wrangled in the hosses.

After breakfast, which I must say for Horace, he et in able shape, we started to saddle up, puttin’ the spare saddle on the hoss I had rode the day before. “Which one o’ you is goin’ back after the other buckboard?” asked Horace.

“Why, we ain’t goin’ back at all,” sez I. “It’s full fifty miles, an’ we can’t keep switchin’ buckboards every day on a trip like this. We’ll just ride the ponies the rest o’ the way.”

“Ride?” sez Horace. “Ride!”