It was broad day when I woke up—that is, the sun was beginnin’ to rise—an’ the fire had dwindled to coals, the breeze had begun to stir itself, an’ I was consid’able chilly. I saw the Friar’s nose stickin’ out o’ one side of his tarp an’ Horace’s nose stickin’ out the other, an’ I grinned purty contentedly.

My experience is, that quarrelsome people usually get along well together an’ make good company; but sad, serious, silent, polite folks is about the wearin’est sort of an affliction a body can have about.

I once heard a missionary preach about what a noble thing it was to control the temper. He must have been a good man, ’cause he was unusual solemn an’ wore his hair long an’ oily; but he only looked at one side o’ the question. I’ve known fellers who had such good control o’ their tempers that after they’d once been put out o’ humor over some little thing, they could keep from bein’ good tempered again for a year. And then again, when a feller keeps too tight a holt on his temper, his hands get numb, an’ his temper’s liable to shy at some silly thing an’ get clear away from him.

What I liked about both the Friar an’ Horace was, ’at they hadn’t froze up all their feelin’s. It was possible to get ’em stirred up about things, an’ this allus struck me as bein’ human; so I was glad to see Horace warmin’ his feet in the small o’ the Friar’s back, an’ I whistled a jig under my breath while gettin’ breakfast.

They grumbled consid’able when I rousted ’em out; but by the time they had soused their heads in the crick, they were in good humor again; an’ hungry! Say! Ever since I’d give him his treatment, Horace had had an appetite like a stray dog; while the Friar allus was a full hand at clearin’ tables, except on his one off-day a week. I gave the Friar a wink just as Horace splashed into his third cup o’ coffee, an’ sez: “Friar, you should have seen this creature when he first came out here. His muscles had all turned to fat, so that he could hardly wobble from one place to another, an’ he was so soft that when he’d lie down at night, his nerves would stick into him an’ keep him awake. Now, if it wasn’t for that fringy thing he wears on his face, he’d look almost exactly like a small-sized human.”

The only come-back Horace made was to start to sing with his mouth full o’ cornbread an’ bacon. This was more ’n any one could stand, so I tipped him over backward, an’ asked the Friar which way he was headin’.

The Friar’s face went grave at once; and then he began to post me up on Olaf the Swede. I had heard some rumors that summer, but hadn’t paid much heed to ’em. It now turned out that the Friar and Olaf had struck up friendly affiliations; so he was able to give me all the details.

Badger-face had a disposition like a bilious wolf, and when he was denied the satisfaction o’ jerkin’ Olaf out o’ this world, he had turned to with earnest patience to make Olaf regret it as much as he did. Olaf could stand more ’n the youngest son in a large family o’ mules, but he had his limitations, the same as the rest of us; so when he saw that Badger was engaged in makin’ the earth no fit place for him to habitate, he began to feel resentful.

When a boss is mean, he is still the boss and he don’t irritate beyond endurance; but a foreman is nothin’ but a fellow worker, after all; so when he gets mean, he’s small and spidery in his meanness; and I reckon ’at Olaf was justified in tryin’ to unjoint Badger-face, thorough and complete.

O’ course, Ty had to back up Badger for the sake o’ discipline; but he didn’t wreak any vengeance on Olaf when he tendered in his resignation, which proves ’at Ty still was full o’ respect for Olaf. Badger was groanin’ on his back when Olaf left; but he called out that he intended to get square, if he had to wear all the curves off his own body to do it.

Olaf had the gift o’ sensin’ men, all right; but his judgment wasn’t such as to make a yearlin’ bull willin’ to swap, and what he did was to take the Pearl Crick Spread as a homestead. It was only about fifteen miles from the Cross brand ranch house, and it was one o’ the choicest bits in the whole country. This act was on a par with an infant baby sneakin’ into a wolf den to steal meat. The Friar put the finishin’ touch by sayin’ that Olaf had bought the old, run-down T brand, and then I lost patience.

“Does Olaf sleep with a lightnin’ rod connected to the back of his neck?” I asked as sober as a boil.

“What do ya mean?” asked the Friar, who was innocent about some things.

“Well, that looks like another good way to attract trouble,” sez I.

“Olaf does not want any trouble,” sez the Friar with dignity. “All he wants is an opportunity to work his claim in peace. He has more self-control ’n airy other man I’ve ever known.”

“It’s a handy thing to have, too,” sez I, “providin’ a feller knows how to use it. Why, ya could change a T brand to a Cross quicker ’n a one-armed Mexican could roll a cigarette. Ty Jones’ll get more o’ that brand ’n ever Olaf will. How is Kit Murray gettin’ along?”

“She is a fine girl,” sez the Friar, his face lightin’. “She has cut out all her wild ways, and Mother Shipley sez her daughter thinks as much of her as if they was sisters. I got word last week ’at her husband died in a hospital; and I hope she’ll marry Olaf some day.”

“Well, I’ll bet the liquor again’ the bottle ’at she never does it,” sez I. “In the first place, she’s got too much style, and in the second, she’s got too much sense. Ty’s already got more stuff ’n he can take care of through a dry summer, and the next one we have, he is goin’ to need Pearl Crick Spread. A grizzly traffics along without bein’ disturbed, until he gets the idee that he owns consid’able property, and has legal rights. Then one day the’ don’t seem to be anything else demandin’ attention, so out go a parcel o’ men and harvest the grizzly. That’s the way it’ll be with Olaf.”

“I advised him to move,” sez the Friar; “but he’s set in his ways.”

“Self-control,” sez I. “I was workin’ in a mine once with a mule and a Hungarian; and both of ’em had an unusual stock o’ self-control. One day right after a fuse had been lit, the mule decided to rest near the spot; an’ the Hun decided to make the mule proceed. We argued with ’em as long as it was safe; but the mule had his self-control an’ all four feet set, and the Hun was usin’ his self-control an’ a shovel. All we ever found was the mule’s right hind leg stickin’ through the Hungarian’s hat, and we buried these jus’ as they was.”

The Friar sighed, pursed up his lips, and sez: “I wish I could help him.”

“Help him all you can, Friar,” sez I; “but after the fuse is burnin’, you pull yourself out to safety. Ty Jones could easy spare you without goin’ into mournin’.”

The Friar rode on about his business, an’ me an’ Horace went back to the ranch, him pumpin’ me constant for further particulars about Olaf an’ Kit. “Horace,” sez I finally, “did you ever see these folks?”

“I never did,” sez he.

“Then,” sez I, “what you got again’ ’em ’at you want ’em to marry?”

“Marriage,” sez he with the recklessness common to old bachelors, “is the proper condition under which humans should live—and besides, I don’t like what you tell about Ty Jones.”

From that on, Horace began to talk hunt; and when Horace talked anything, he was as hard to forget as a split lip. He had brought out some rifles which the clerk had told him would kill grizzlies on sight, and Horace had an awful appetite to wipe out the memory o’ that woodchuck.

I admit that no one has any right to be surprised at anything some one else wants to do; but I never did get quite hardened to Horace Walpole Bradford. When ya looked at him, ya knew he was a middle-aged man with side-burn whiskers; but when ya listened to his talk, he sounded like a fourteen-year-old boy who had run away to slaughter Injuns in wholesale quantities.

All of his projecs were boyish; he purt’ nigh had his backbone bucked up through the peak of his head before he’d give in that ridin’ mean ones was a trade to itself; and the same with ropin’, and several other things. It ground him bitter because his body hadn’t slipped back as young as his mind, an’ he worked at it constant, tryin’ to make it so.

He wore black angora chaps, two guns, silver spurs, rattlesnake hat-band, Injun-work gauntlets, silk neckerchief through a silver slip, leather wristlets, an’ as tough an expression as he could work up; but the one thing of his old life he refused to discard was his side-burns. Sometimes he’d go without shavin’ for two weeks, an’ we’d all think he was raisin’ a beard; but one day he’d catch sight of himself in a lookin’-glass, an’ then he’d grub out the new growth an’ leave the hedge to blossom in all its glory.

We were long handed for the winter as usual, an’ the’ wasn’t any reason why we couldn’t take a hunt; so Tank an’ Spider egged him on, an’ I wasn’t much set again’ it myself. Horace agreed to pay us our wages while we were away, an’ offered Jabez pay for the hosses; but o’ course he wouldn’t listen to it; and for a few days he even talked some o’ goin’ with us, though he didn’t ever care much for huntin’.

Finally we started out with a big pack train an’ enough ammunition for an army. Besides me an’ Horace, the’ was Tank, Spider Kelley, Tillte Dutch, an’ Mexican Slim. Slim was to do the cookin’, an’ the rest of us were to divvy up on the other chores all alike, Horace not to be treated much different simply because he was payin’ us our wages; but he was to have the decidin’ vote on where we should go an’ how long we’d stay. It was fine weather most o’ the time, though now an’ again we’d get snowed up for a day or so in the high parts.

I had allus felt on friendly terms with the wild creatures; an’ I had told him before we started that I wouldn’t have no part in usin’ hosses for bear-bait, nor shootin’ bears in traps, nor killin’ a lot o’ stuff we had no use for; but Horace turned out to be as decent a hunter as I ever met up with, an’ after the second day out he did as little silly shootin’ as any of us. He wasn’t downright blood-thirsty, like a lot of ’em who get their first taste too late in life. He cared more for the fun o’ campin’ out an’ stalkin’ game than he did for killin’. We only got one silver-tip, most of ’em havin’ holed up; but we found all the other game we wanted. Horace killed the grizzly, which was a monster big one, and this wiped the woodchuck off his record, and inflated his self-respect until the safety valve on his conceit boiler was fizzin’ half the time.

We made a permanent camp not far from Olaf’s shack, an’ it didn’t take me long to see ’at the foxy Horace was more interested in Olaf an’ his war with Ty Jones than he was in huntin’. As soon as we had our camp arranged, he got me to take him over to Pearl Crick Spread to call on Olaf. I told him that Olaf wasn’t what you’d call sociable; but he insisted, so we went.

We found Olaf in an infernal temper, an’ some tempted to take it out on the first human he met; but this didn’t phaze Horace. He thought he could start Olaf by tellin’ him that Kit Murray was a widow; but the Friar had already told him and Olaf wouldn’t thaw worth a cent. He kept on askin’ questions, even when they wasn’t answered, until Olaf got hungry an’ asked us in to eat dinner with him. After we had eaten, we sat around the fire smokin’, an’ Horace looked as contented as a cat. He kept at his questionin’ until he got Olaf to talkin’ freer ’n I had supposed he could talk.

Horace tried him out on all sorts o’ things, an’ when Olaf snubbed him, why, he just overlooked it an’ tried somethin’ else. Finally he tried his hand at religion, an’ this was what loosened Olaf up. Now Olaf was actually religious, and called himself a Christian, but the’ was a heap o’ difference between his brand o’ it an’ the Friar’s.

Olaf’s God took more solid satisfaction in makin’ hell utterly infernal than a civilized community takes in a penitentiary; an’ Olaf was purty certain as to who was goin’ there. When he got to talkin’ religion in earnest, his face grew hard an’ his eyes bright, an’ he gloated over the souls in torment till he showed his teeth in a grin. The’ wasn’t any doubt in his mind that Ty Jones was goin’ to be among those present, an’ this led him into tellin’ what had put him so far out o’ humor before we’d come along.

He had found another one of his cows shot an’ only a couple o’ steaks cut off. He fair frothed at the mouth when he told us this, an’ he didn’t make any bones of givin’ Ty the credit for it. He cut loose an’ told us a string o’ things ’at he knew about Ty, an’ ya couldn’t blame him for feelin’ sore. He talked along in a rush after he got started, tellin’ o’ the way ’at Ty changed brands an’ butchered other fellers’ stock an’ wasn’t above takin’ human life when it stood in his way. “He made me as big a devil as he is,” sez Olaf; “an’ now he knows ’at I can’t get any backin’; so he is just persecutin’ me; but some o’ these days, I’ll get a chance at him.”

Horace had dropped into a silence while Olaf was talkin’; but now he raised a finger at me, an’ said: “I’ll tell you what we’ll do: instead of huntin’ ordinary wild beasts, we’ll just keep watch on Olaf’s stuff, an’ when any one bothers it, why, we’ll take ’em into some town with a jail.”

Olaf shook his head, an’ I told Horace that the’ wasn’t any law for big cattle men; but Horace was all worked up, an’ after we’d left Olaf an’ started for camp, he didn’t talk of anything else. He put it before the boys; but they were all again’ it, an’ told him a lot o’ tales about fellers who had tried to buck the big cattle men. Horace called us all cowards; but we only laughed at his ignorance an’ let him carry on as far as he liked. He sat up way into the night broodin’ over it, an’ from that on he did a lot o’ scoutin’ on his own hook. We used to keep an eye on him, though; so after all he had his own way about it, an’ Olaf’s stuff was watched purty close.

The boys was proud of Horace, just as they’d have been proud of a fightin’ terrier; but they was worried about him, too, in just about the same way.

“I tell you, that little runt would shoot to kill if he got a chance,” sez Tank Williams, one night while Horace was away.

“Aw ya can’t tell,” sez Spider. “He thinks he would; but he’s never been up against it yet, an’ ya can’t tell.”

“Well, what if he did shoot,” sez Slim, “we wouldn’t have to mix in, would we?”

“You know blame well we’d mix in,” sez Tank, “an’ you can’t tell where it would end. If Horace had ’a’ come out here when he was a kid, he’d ’a’ turned out one o’ the bad men for true. It’s in his blood. Look at him! when he came here first, he didn’t have no more get-up ’n a sofy piller; but look what he’s gone through since. I saw him, myself, march along without food for four days, an’ when we came up with that cow, he was willin’ to help kill her with a rock or strangle her to death, an’ he didn’t make no more bones o’ calf-milkin’ her than a coyote would. He started out in life with more devilment in him ’n any of us, an’ what he’s achin’ for now is a mix-in with the Cross brand outfit. That’s my guess.”

“An’ that’s my guess,” I chimed in; but just then we heard two shots close together, then a pause an’ three more shots. We jammed on our hats an’ guns an’ rushed outside. It was a moonlight night, an’ we hustled in the direction o’ the shots. Before long we made out Horace an’ Tillte Dutch comin’ towards us, an’ Horace was struttin’ like Cupid the bulldog used to walk, after he’d flung a steer. It was the first time I’d ever noticed this, but I noticed it plain, out there in the moonlight.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I reckon ’at somebody knows by now that Olaf’s stuff is havin’ a little interest took in it,” sez Horace.

We came back into the old log cabin where we was campin’, an’ Dutch told about how Horace had got him to walk with him, an’ had sat down on a rock where they could see Olaf’s little bunch o’ cattle grazin’. He said ’at Horace sat with his rifle across his lap and kept watch like an Injun scout.

After a time they saw two men creep out of a ravine not far from where they was sittin’ an’ sneak down on the bunch o’ cows. One of ’em had shot a cow, an’ Horace had shot him, bringin’ him down, but not killin’ him. The two had run for the ravine, an’ Horace had tried to cut ’em off, an’ he had gone along ’cause Horace had; but the two had got to their hosses first. Each o’ the two had taken one shot, an’ Horace had shot back but none o’ these last shots had hit anything, an’ the two had got away.

“I’ll bet they haven’t got so far away but what we’ll hear from ’em again,” sez Tank.

“The thing for us to do is to start back to the Diamond Dot,” sez I.

“We shall stay here, an’ see what happens,” sez Horace, lightin’ his pipe. His eyes were dancin’ an’ he was all puffed up. I didn’t say any more. I just looked at him. He was the same old Horace, side-burns an’ all; but still the’ was enough difference for me to begin to regret havin’ give him the treatment. I had cured his nerve so complete it seemed likely to boss the whole crowd of us into trouble.