the bunk-house there was much hilarity, and laughter roared continually
at the grotesque gymnastics of the reel and at the sharp wit which cut
right and left, respecting no one save the new member of the outfit,
and eventually he came in for his share, which he repaid with interest.
Suddenly Jim, catching his spurs in a bear-skin rug which lay near a
bunk, threw out his arms to save himself and then went sprawling to the
floor. The uproar increased suddenly, and as it died down Jim could be
heard complaining.

"---- ----!" he cried as he nursed his knee. "I've had that pelt for
nigh onto three years and regularly I go and get tangled up with it. It
shore beats all how I plumb forget its habit of wrapping itself around
them rowels, what are too big, anyhow. And it ain't a big one at that,
only about half as big as the one I got for a tenderfoot up in Montanny,"
he deprecated in disgust.

The outfit scented a story and became suddenly quiet.

"Dod-blasted postage stamp of a pelt," he grumbled as he threw it into
his bunk.

"The other skin couldn't 'a' been much bigger than that one," said Bud,
leading him on. "How big was it, anyhow, Jim?"

"It couldn't, hey? It came off a nine-foot grizzly, that's how big it
was," retorted Jim, sitting down and filling his pipe. "Nine whole feet
from stub of tail to snoot, plumb full of cussedness, too."

"How'd you get it--Sharps?" queried Charley.

"No, Colt," responded Jim. "Luckiest shot _I_ ever made, all right. I
shore had visions of wearing wings when I pulled the trigger. Just one of
them lucky shots a man will make sometimes."

"Give us the story, Jim," suggested Silent, settling himself easily in his
bunk. "Then we'll have another smoke and go right to bed. I'm some sleepy."

"Well," began Jim after his pipe was going well, "I was sort of second
foreman for the Tadpole, up in Montanny, about six years ago. I had a good
foreman, a good ranch and about a dozen white punchers to look after. And
we had a real cook, no mistake about that, all right.

"The Old Man hibernated in New York during the winter and came out every
spring right after the calf round-up was over to see how we was fixed and
to eat some of the cook's flapjacks. That cook wasn't no yaller-skinned
post for a hair clothes line, like this grinning monkey what we've got
here. The Old Man was a fine old cuss--one of the boys, and a darn good
one, too--and we was always plumb glad to see him. He minded his own