"No, sir. Saw a man."

"But how do you know they're not sick skunks?"

"No, sir! They're well skunks. Well as anything. You'll not meet skunks
in any state of the Union more robust than them in Arkansaw. And thick."

"That's awful true," sighed another. "I have buried hundreds of dollars'
worth of clothes in Arkansaw."

"Why didn't yu' travel in a sponge bag?" inquired Scipio. And this
brought a slight silence.

"Speakin' of bites," spoke up a new man, "how's that?" He held up his
thumb.

"My!" breathed Scipio. "Must have been a lion."

The man wore a wounded look. "I was huntin' owl eggs for a botanist from
Boston," he explained to me.

"Chiropodist, weren't he?" said Scipio. "Or maybe a sonnabulator?"

"No, honest," protested the man with the thumb; so that I was sorry for
him, and begged him to go on.

"I'll listen to you," I assured him. And I wondered why this politeness
of mine should throw one or two of them into stifled mirth. Scipio, on
the other hand, gave me a disgusted look and sat back sullenly for a
moment, and then took himself out on the platform, where the Virginian
was lounging.

"The young feller wore knee-pants and ever so thick spectacles with a
half-moon cut in 'em," resumed the narrator, "and he carried a tin box
strung to a strap I took for his lunch till it flew open on him and a
horn toad hustled out. Then I was sure he was a botanist--or whatever
yu' say they're called. Well, he would have owl eggs--them little
prairie-owl that some claim can turn their head clean around and
keep a-watchin' yu', only that's nonsense. We was ridin' through that
prairie-dog town, used to be on the flat just after yu' crossed the
south fork of Powder River on the Buffalo trail, and I said I'd dig an
owl nest out for him if he was willing to camp till I'd dug it. I wanted
to know about them owls some myself--if they did live with the dogs and
snakes, yu' know," he broke off, appealing to me.

"Oh, yes," I told him eagerly.

"So while the botanist went glarin' around the town with his glasses to
see if he could spot a prairie-dog and an owl usin' the same hole, I was
diggin' in a hole I'd seen an owl run down. And that's what I got." He
held up his thumb again.

"The snake!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, sir. Mr. Rattler was keepin' house that day. Took me right there.
I hauled him out of the hole hangin' to me. Eight rattles."

"Eight!" said I. "A big one."

"Yes, sir. Thought I was dead. But the woma