afoot.

"Each man with a map," says Ag. "Look at 'em dodge, Hy. They go out
of sight for seconds at the time--'Shall we gather by the river, the
beautiful, the beautiful Squaw River?'--I reckon."

We did. Everybody seemed surprised at seein' everybody else.

"Just come out for a picnic, friends?" says Ag.

"Oh, yes," says everybody. "Great old day and nice spot here--tired of
town--thought we'd make a holiday."

"Good, good," says Aggy, his honest face gleamin' with joy. "Let's all
eat now and swop maps afterward."

Things kind of stopped for a minute. If a man was unhitchin' a mule,
he waited till you could count 1, 2, 3, and then continnered.

"What d'ye mean by 'map'?" says one lad, bent under a horse to hide his
face.

"What do I mean?" says Ag, offended. "Why, I mean just what Noah
Webster meant when the dove came back bringin' the definition to his
ark. I mean map--m-a-p, map--a drawin' that shows you the way to get
to a red cross that doesn't exist on the face of nature. I like green
crosses as a matter of taste, but all our paralysed friend had left was
a red one, so I took that, not to be unsociable."

I've been at pleasanter lookin' picnics.

Finally the feller under the horse did some deep thinkin' and come out.
"Have you honest got a map?" says he.

"To the Lost Injun mine? 'Heigh-o, the Lost Injun!'" sings Aggy.
"Here she is, my friend, with all dips, angles, and variations; one
million feet on the main lode; his heirs, assigns, orphans. _E
pluribus unum_, forever and forever!"

"Yours ain't just the same as mine," says the feller, grimly spittin'.

"No," says Ag, "I reckon he spread it around. He didn't know this was
the nearest ford on Squaw Creek, and we might likely come together."

And then arose a cussin', not loud, but with a full head of steam--it
would make ordinary loud seem like the insides of a whisper--and a rush
for horses.

"Peace, friends, peace!" says Aggy, standin' up his hull height and
with his noble chest fillin' his black coat; his black whiskers
expandin' in pride--a hootin', tootin' son-of-a-gun to look at. And
when he said "peace," the earth shook.

The crowd stopped. "Think!" says Aggy. "Attempt the impossible!
Think! Remember that paralytic is on a parlour car, flying swiftly
toward the setting sun. I see the picture of that lonely railroad
train whooping ties across the prairie. What is the use of throwing
yourselves into a violent perspirat