gaunt, his eyes blazing each side his big eagle
nose, and his snaky hair hanging over the raw cut across his head.
However, I made out to get him bandaged up and in shape; and pretty
soon he sort of went to sleep.

Well, he was clean out of his head for nigh two weeks. Most of the
time he lay flat on his back staring at the pole roof, his eyes burning
and looking like they saw each one something a different distance off,
the way crazy eyes do. That was when he was best. Then again he'd
sing that Barbaree song until I'd go out and look at the old Colorado
flowing by just to be sure I hadn't died and gone below. Or else he'd
just talk. That was the worst performance of all. It was like
listening to one end of a telephone, though we didn't know what
telephones were in those days. He began when he was a kid, and he gave
his side of conversations, pausing for replies. I could mighty near
furnish the replies sometimes. It was queer lingo--about ships and
ships' officers and gales and calms and fights and pearls and whales
and islands and birds and skies. But it was all little stuff. I used
to listen by the hour, but I never made out anything really important
as to who the man was, or where he'd come from, or what he'd done.

At the end of the second week I came in at noon as per usual to fix him
up with grub. I didn't pay any attention to him, for he was quiet. As
I was bending over the fire he spoke. Usually I didn't bother with his
talk, for it didn't mean anything, but something in his voice made me
turn. He was lying on his side, those black eyes of his blazing at me,
but now both of them saw the same distance.

"Where are my clothes?" he asked, very intense.

"You ain't in any shape to want clothes," said I. "Lie still."

I hadn't any more than got the words out of my mouth before he was atop
me. His method was a winner. He had me by the throat with his hand,
and I felt the point of the hook pricking the back of my neck. One
little squeeze--Talk about your deadly weapons!

But he'd been too sick and too long abed. He turned dizzy and keeled
over, and I dumped him back on the bunk. Then I put my six-shooter on.

In a minute or so he came to.

"Now you're a nice, sweet proposition," said I, as soon as I was sure
he could understand me. "Here I pick you up on the street and save
your worthless carcass, and the first chance you get you try to crawl
my hump. Explain."

"Where's my clothes?" he