twenty minutes for the
cast bound; an' a feller got his dog out o' the baggage car an' started
to climb the mountains.

You fellers all know how this air is, but a stranger thinks he can spit
on a mountain that's ten miles off. When the whistle blew, he made a
good run an' got on all right; but the pup was havin' the time of his
life an' missed his chance of gettin' on the same car that the feller
did. He was game all right an' give a purty jump onto the front
platform of the last car, where a big buck nigger was standin' with a
white coat on. He give the pup a kick under the chin an' sent him
rollin' over backward.

"Why, the vile wretch!" yells Bill, at the same time snatchin' my gun
out of the holster. I had barely time to bump up his arm, an' even as
it was he knocked the paint off right above the coon's head. Bill
turned on me with his eyes snappin' sparks, an' in a voice as cold as
the click of a Winchester, he sez, "Next time, John Hawkins, I'll thank
you to mind your own business." An' he held the gun kind o' friendly
like, with the muzzle pointin' at my watch pocket.

I own up I was jarred; he'd been as gentle as a butterfly up to that
minute, an' here he was lookin' into me with the chilly eyes of a
killin' man; but I put a little edge on my own voice an' sez,
"Heretofore, I allus counted it my business to look after what my own
gun was engaged in doin'. When you're sure that you're all through with
it, I'll thank you to return it to where you found it."

Then I turned on my heel an' strode up toward town; but he grabbed me
by the shoulder an' whirled me around. "Here's your gun, Happy." sez
he. "You know I didn't aim to offend you. It was that confounded Zulu
'at riled me up."

The pup had give up his chase after the train an' was comin' back the
track to town, lookin' mighty down in the mouth--he had a purty
prominent mouth, too, the pup had. He was a brindle bull; not one o'
these that look like an Injun idol, but a nice, clean-built, upstandin'
feller with a quiet, business-like air.

"Purty tough on the pup to be turned out to starve this way," sez I.

"Who's goin' to let him starve?" sez Bill. "Come here, old feller."
"Better look out," sez I, "bulldogs is fierce."

"So is men," sez Bill; "an' besides, this ain't no bulldog, this is a
London brindle bull-terrier, an' a crackerjack. Look at the brass
collar he's wearin'. This is ain't no stray. I'll telegraph ahead an'
see if they want him expre