me up considerable until he met with
an accident. Then his widow married me, and I'm plumb disheartened.

II

I was cooking slapjacks, which gives quick satisfaction for the time
invested, when Iron Dale rolled in on his way home. Says my high-grade
slapjacks is such stuff as dreams are made of. With him quoting
Scripture like that I got suspicious about his coming around by this
ranch, instead of hitting straight for Sky-line. On that he owns up to
something dam curious and disturbing to my fur. Thar's a stranger at
Hundred Mile House, claiming he's come from London, England, to find my
wife.

On the stage sleigh from Ashcroft this person got froze, which mostly
happens to a tenderfoot, who'd rather freeze like a man than run behind
like a dog. So of course he comes in handy for poor Doc McGee. Our
people being hale and artful as bears, McGee would be out of practise
altogether but for such, so I hope he'll make good out of this here
perishable stranger, the same being a useful absentee from my ranch.
He's got a sort of puppy piano along, which grieves me to think our
settlers must be getting out of date with such latest improvements, and
other settlements liable to throw dirt in our face. Puppy pianos which
tinkle isn't priced yet in the Hudson's Bay store catalog. Seems it's
called harpsecord, and this person plays it night and day, so that the
ranch hands is quitting, and Cap Taylor charges him double money for
board. I wonder what he wants with my wife, anyhow. The missus wants me
to take the sleigh and collect him. I dunno but seems to my dim
intellecks that would be meeting trouble half-way, besides robbing the
doctor and Capt. Taylor who done me no harm.

III

This morning, after rigging a life-line to the stable because of this
continuing blizzard, I went to the lady's home. She showed me a letter
Dale brought, in eytalian, which says the swine proposes to kiss her
feet, and wallow in divine song, etc. His name is Salvator, so he's a
dago. She, being white, can't have any truck with such, being the same
specie as niggers, so that's all right. Seems the puppy piano is for her
from her beloved maestro, another swine from the same litter. She's
singing now, and it goes through my bones. Her voice is deep as a man's,
strong as Fraser Rapids, and I own that puppy piano appeals to my best
instinks. As for me, my name's mud, and she treads in it.

IV

The wind went chasing after the sun, leaving peace