t?" Shock's voice was quiet, solemn,
almost stern.

"I say," said Bill, "you'd best put up your horse and feed. Yes, you've
got to feed, both of you, and this is the best place you'll find for
twenty miles round, so come right on. You're line aint mine, but you're
white. I say, though," continued Bill, unhitching the cayuse, "it's a
pity you've taken up that preachin' business. I've not much use for
that. Now, with that there build of yours"--Bill was evidently
impressed with Shock's form--"you'd be fit for almost anything."

Shock smiled and then grew serious.

"No," he said, "I've got to live only once, and nothing else seemed
good enough for a fellow's life."

"What, preachin'?"

"No. Stopping men from sliding over the precipice and helping them
back. The fact is," and, Shock looked over the cayuse's back into
Bill's eyes, "every man should take a hand at that. There's a lot of
satisfaction in it."

"Well, stranger," replied Bill, leading the way to the stable, "I guess
you're pretty near right, though it's queer to hear me say it. There
aint much in anything, anyway. When your horse is away at the front
leadin' the bunch and everybody yellin' for you, you're happy, but when
some other fellow's horse makes the runnin' and the crowd gets
a-yellin' for him, then you're sick. Pretty soon you git so you don't
care."

"'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,'" quoted Shock. "Solomon says
you're right."

"Solomon, eh? Well, by all accounts he hit quite a gait, too. Had them
all lookin' dizzy, I reckon. Come on in. I'll have dinner in a shake."

Fried pork and flapjacks, done brown in the gravy, with black molasses
poured over all, and black tea strong enough to float a man-of-war, all
this with a condiment of twenty miles of foot-hill breezes, makes a
dinner such as no king ever enjoyed. Shock's delight in his eating was
so obvious that Bill's heart warmed towards him. No finer compliment
can be paid a cook than to eat freely and with relish of his cooking.
Before the meal was over the men had so far broken through the barriers
of reserve as to venture mutual confidences about the past. After Shock
had told the uneventful story of his life, in which his mother, of
course, was the central figure, Bill sat a few moments in silence, and
then began: "Well, I never knew my mother. My father was a devil, so I
guess I came naturally by all the devilment in me, and that's a few.
But"--and here Bill paused for some little t