an ordinary man bilious with trouble than have a friend like Colin tell
me exciting stories with a sword. There were times when you couldn't
have got a cigarette paper between me and that four-foot weapon. I was
playing the villains, you understand.

Well, the Maximilian game was up, and when Colin got well (some lad
with no sporting blood had shot him in the head) he slid over to the
United States and resumed sheep herding, knitting, and bagpiping allee
samee old country. I suspect the boss of the ranch hired Mr. Grunt
more because he liked the old boy than for any other reason, inasmuch
as he didn't have more'n a hundred sheep in the bunch; besides, what
with getting shot in the head and grieving for his chief and one thing
and another, Colin was a _little_ damaged in the cupola--not but what
he was as sensible as I could understand most of the time--but--well,
kind of sideways about things; like not learning English and keeping on
dressing in knee skirts and such.

What troubled him the most was that no such thing as a clan could be
found. I explained to him as best I could that as us Americans
represented Europe, Asia, and Africa in varyin' proportions, it was a
little difficult to get up a stout clan feeling--local issues would
come in.

Yes, he said he understood that, but it was a great pity, and on the
fourth night I was there he got so horrible melancholy over it that it
was dreadful to see. I didn't know how to cheer him up exactly, until
we'd had two--perhaps three--drops together. Then an inspiration hit
me in the top of the head.

"Come along outside with the nightcracker," says I. "I'll take the
sword and we'll have one of those dances you've told me about."

He brightened up at that, and after a few more drops consented. I felt
right merry by this time, and it wasn't long before old Colin limbered
considerable. There it was, nice bright moonlight, nobody around to
pass remarks; nothing to trouble. So bime-by we pasted her hide, wide
and fantastic, with the bagpipes screechin' like a tom-cat fight in a
cellar. I was tickled to death lookin' at our shadows flyin'
around--one of the times I was easily pleased; I must say I enjoyed the
can-can.

And then, alas! All my joy departed and went away, for when my eye
happened to slide behind me, it fell on a Tonto brave--a full-sized
Tonto-Yuma brave, that ought to be seen at Camp Grant, dressed in a
pocket handkerchief, a pair of moccasins, an