nd she thought that settled it, that I
was a great man. After arguing with her quite some time about it, I had
to give in; so I spit on my hands and sailed in to do my little
darndest. I expected the men who realized fully how little I knew about
it all would call me a brash damn fool or anyway give me the horse
laugh; but I fooled myself. They were mightily decent. Jed Parker or Sam
Wooden or Windy Bill were always just happening by and roosting on the
corral rails. Then if I listened to them--and I always did--I learned a
heap about what I ought to do. Why, even Buck Johnson himself came and
stayed at the ranch with me for more than a week at the time of the fall
round-up: and he never went near the riding, but just projected around
here and there looking over my works and ways. And in the evenings he
would smoke and utter grave words of executive wisdom which I treasured
and profited by.

If a man gives his whole mind to it, he learns practical things fast.
Even a dumb-head Wop gets his English rapidly when he's where he has to
talk that or nothing. Inside of three years I had that ranch paying, and
paying big. It was due to my friends whom I had been afraid of, and I'm
not ashamed to say so. There's Herefords on our range now instead of
that lot of heady long-horns Old Man Hooper used to run; and we're
growing alfalfa and hay in quantity for fattening when they come in off
the ranges. Got considerable hogs, too, and hogs are high--nothing but
pure blood Poland. I figure I've added fully fifty per cent., if not
more, to the value of the ranch as it came to me. No, I'm not bragging;
I'm explaining how came it I married my wife and figured to keep my
self-respect. I'd have married her anyhow. We've been together now
fifteen years, and I'm here to say that she's a humdinger of a girl,
game as a badger, better looking every day, knows cattle and alfalfa
and sunsets and sonatas and Poland hogs--but I said this was no love
story, and it isn't!

The day following the taking of the ranch and the death of Old Man
Hooper we put our prisoners on horses and started along with them toward
the Mexican border. Just outside of Soda Springs whom should we meet up
with but big Tom Thorne, the sheriff.

"Evenin', Buck," said he.

"Evenin'," replied the senor.

"What you got here?"

"This is a little band of religious devotees fleein' persecution," said
Buck.

"And what are you up to with them?" asked Thorne.

"We're protecti