to talk about funerals.

He seemed to have enjoyed going to them greatly, and described each
individual one at length. Never before had Whitey known what a subject
for conversation funerals could make. Little dwelled on the burial of
each one of his immediate family, then passed on to his distant
relatives, then to his friends, then to his acquaintances. Whitey's
nerves were pretty steady, as you know, but after about four hours of
this, Little got him so fidgety that he thought he would fall off the
horse. Finally he thought Little had changed the subject, and breathed a
sigh of relief.

"Drink's a awful evil," Little announced solemnly. "They was a friend o'
mine, one o' them two-handed drinkers, what was down to Bismarck, an'
got in th' c'ndition what liquor perduces, an' this friend o' mine was
standin' on th' sidewalk, an' 'long comes a funeral."

"Here it is again!" muttered Whitey, with a groan.

"An' this friend o' mine," Little continued, "sees this here funeral,
an' bein' in th' c'ndition he's in, he thinks it is a percession, an' he
waves his hat an' cheers, an' he gets urrested."

Little looked sternly at Whitey as though to drive the moral of this
story home, and to warn him never to drink and cheer a funeral. But at
this moment "Willer Bend" hove in sight, and the talk turned to other
channels.

The Bend was a relief in more ways than one, for it was a beautiful spot
on the sharp turn of a narrow creek, whose banks were overhung by
weeping-willows, the green of their leaves made vivid by the recent
rain. One Chet Morgan, a nester, lived here. Nesters--or small
farmers--were not usually popular in the early days of the Western
ranges, as they had a way of fencing in the springs, or water-holes, to
provide irrigation for their crops. But there was plenty of water in
that country, so Chet was welcome to all of it he wanted.

While Whitey sat in the doorway of the small shack, Little had a long
talk with Chet, near the stable, and Chet seemed to be nodding his head
in agreement to everything the puncher said. They then rested awhile and
had dinner with the nester, and after that Little rode away, leading
Whitey's borrowed horse. There seemed no reason for Whitey's staying any
longer, and Chet again went to the stable, and returned leading what is
called a jack, "jack" being short for "jackass."

"Here's your mount, son," said Chet, "an' if you'll keep t' th'--"

"Am I to ride _that_?" Whitey demanded