And I said, "To get little Albert."

And they said I couldn't, and got mad. But I didn't care. I knew they'd
wait. You see, I've been here twenty-five years, and I know the back
trails that lead up the mountain, and Charley and Joe didn't know those
trails. That's why they wanted me to come.

So I went back and got little Albert. He can't walk, or talk, or do
anything except drool, and I had to carry him in my arms. We went on
past the last hayfield, which was as far as I'd ever gone. Then the
woods and brush got so thick, and me not finding any more trail, we
followed the cow-path down to a big creek and crawled through the fence
which showed where the Home land stopped.

We climbed up the big hill on the other side of the creek. It was all
big trees, and no brush, but it was so steep and slippery with dead
leaves we could hardly walk. By and by we came to a real bad place. It
was forty feet across, and if you slipped you'd fall a thousand feet, or
mebbe a hundred. Anyway, you wouldn't fall--just slide. I went across
first, carrying little Albert. Joe came next. But Charley got scared
right in the middle and sat down.

"I'm going to have a fit," he said.

"No, you're not," said Joe. "Because if you was you wouldn't 'a' sat
down. You take all your fits standing."

"This is a different kind of a fit," said Charley, beginning to cry.

He shook and shook, but just because he wanted to he couldn't scare up
the least kind of a fit.

Joe got mad and used awful language. But that didn't help none. So I
talked soft and kind to Charley. That's the way to handle feebs. If you
get mad, they get worse. I know. I'm that way myself. That's why I was
almost the death of Mrs. Bopp. She got mad.

It was getting along in the afternoon, and I knew we had to be on our
way, so I said to Joe:

"Here, stop your cussing and hold Albert. I'll go back and get him."

And I did, too; but he was so scared and dizzy he crawled along on hands
and knees while I helped him. When I got him across and took Albert back
in my arms, I heard somebody laugh and looked down. And there was a man
and woman on horseback looking up at us. He had a gun on his saddle, and
it was her who was laughing.

"Who in hell's that?" said Joe, getting scared. "Somebody to catch us?"

"Shut up your cussing," I said to him. "That is the man who owns this
ranch and writes books."

"How do you do, Mr. Endicott," I said down to him.

"Hello," he said. "What are y