and, and playin'-cards, and sich. But you don't never seem to get
us--that is, most o' you! Why, 'tain't nothin' but sign language,
neither--same as Injuns talkin' to whites. But I reckon you're idiots,
most o' you, and blind, you hairless animals, wearin' stuff stole offen
sheep, and your ugly white faces mostly smooth. You got the idee we
don't know nothin'--pity us, I s'pose, because we can't understand you.
Lawzee! We understand you, all right. It's you 'at don't understand us.
And that's the hull trouble. You think we're just a lump o' common dirt,
with a little tincture o' movement added, just enough so as we can run
and drag your loads around for you. Wisht you could 'a' heard me and old
Tom last night, after you'd all turned in, talkin' on the subject o'
keepin' well and strong and serene o' mind. Sign language? Some. But
what of it, old whiskers? Don't every deef-and-dumb party get along with
few sounds and plenty of signs? You humans give me mortal distress!'

"And so on," concluded this lover of animals. "Thus Lady horse used to
talk to me every mornin', tryin' to make me see things some little
clearer. And that's all animals--if you happen to know the 'try me' on
their little old middle chamber work." He fell silent.

The others said nothing. Each sat smoking reflectively, gazing into the
dying flames, until one arose and prepared to turn in. Stephen was the
last except the Professor and the man with the scrubby beard. And
finally the Professor gained his feet and, with a glance at the last
figure remaining at the fire, took off his boots and rolled up in his
blanket. For a long moment he stared curiously at the other bowed in
thought.

"Ain't you goin' to turn in?" he finally inquired. "You ain't et up by
nothin', be you?"

The lean man slowly lifted his head. "I was thinkin'," he said, half to
himself, "of a--a kind of horse's prayer I once see in a harness-shop in
Albuquerque."

The other twisted himself under his blanket. "How did it go?" he asked,
encouragingly. "Let's all have it!"

The lean man arose. "'To thee, my master,' it started off," he began,
moving slowly toward his blanket. Suddenly he paused. "I--I don't just
seem to remember it all," he said, and sat down and pulled off one of
his boots. He held it in his hands absently.

The Professor urged him on. "Let her come," he said, his face now hidden
in the folds of his covering. "Shoot it--let's hear."

"'To thee, my master, I offer my