es Dickens. Of course you've read him? Which of his books do
you like best?"

I replied with considerable embarrassment that I liked them all,--as I
certainly did.

He grasped my hand for a moment with a fervor quite unlike his usual
phlegm, and said, "That's me, old man. Dickens ain't no slouch. You
can count on him pretty much all the time."

With this rough preface, he launched into a criticism of the novelist,
which for intelligent sympathy and hearty appreciation I had rarely
heard equaled. Not only did he dwell upon the exuberance of his humor,
but upon the power of his pathos and the all-pervading element of his
poetry. I looked at the man in astonishment. I had considered myself
a rather diligent student of the great master of fiction, but the
stranger's felicity of quotation and illustration staggered me. It is
true, that his thought was not always clothed in the best language, and
often appeared in the slouching, slangy undress of the place and
period, yet it never was rustic nor homespun, and sometimes struck me
with its precision and fitness. Considerably softened toward him, I
tried him with other literature. But vainly. Beyond a few of the
lyrical and emotional poets, he knew nothing. Under the influence and
enthusiasm of his own speech, he himself had softened considerably;
offered to change horses with me, readjusted my saddle with
professional skill, transferred my pack to his own horse, insisted upon
my sharing the contents of his whisky flask, and, noticing that I was
unarmed, pressed upon me a silver-mounted Derringer, which he assured
me he could "warrant." These various offices of good will and the
diversion of his talk beguiled me from noticing the fact that the trail
was beginning to become obscure and unrecognizable. We were evidently
pursuing a route unknown before to me. I pointed out the fact to my
companion, a little impatiently. He instantly resumed his old manner
and dialect.

"Well, I reckon one trail's as good as another, and what hev ye got to
say about it?"

I pointed out, with some dignity, that I preferred the old trail.

"Mebbe you did. But you're jiss now takin' a pasear with ME. This yer
trail will bring you right into Indian Spring, and ONNOTICED, and no
questions asked. Don't you mind now, I'll see you through."

It was necessary here to make some stand against my strange companion.
I said firmly, yet as politely as I could, that I had proposed stoppin