equence, nothing of the sea or
of sailors, and he had forgotten when that anchor had been tattooed on
his wrist. He thought it had always been there. He was a laborer, a
pick-and-shovel man, and this was the only work he aspired to.
Disappointed in him, for I had yearned for a little seamanly sympathy
and companionship, I finished my smoke in the fire-light and turned to
get the bed ready, when one of the rats sprang from the bed, across the
floor and between the tramp and the fire; then it darted to a hole in
the edge of the floor and disappeared. But its coming and going wrought
a curious effect upon that wayfarer. He choked, spluttered, stood up
and reeled, then fell headlong to the floor.

"Hello!" I said, anxiously; "anything wrong?"

He got on his feet, looked wildly about the place, and asked, in a
hoarse, broken voice that held nothing of its former plaintiveness:

"What's this? Was I picked up? What ship is this?"

"No ship at all. It's a cow camp."

"Log cabin, isn't it?"--he was staring at the walls. "I never saw one
before. I must have been out of my head for a while. Picked up, of
course. Was the mate picked up? He was in bad shape."

"Look here, old man," I said, gently, "are you out of your head now, or
were you out of your head before?"

"I don't know. I must have been out of my head. I can't remember much
after tumbling overboard, until just now. What day is this?"

"Tuesday," I answered.

"Tuesday? It was Sunday when it happened. Did you have a hand in
picking me up? Who was it?"

"Not me," I said. "I found you on the road out here in a dazed state of
mind, and you knew nothing whatever of ships or of sailors, though I
took you for a shellback by your walk."

"That's right. You can always spot one. You're a sailor, I can see, and
an American, too. But what are you doing here? This must be the coast
of Portugal or Spain."

"No, this is a cow camp on the Crossbar Range in the middle of
Arizona."

"Arizona? Six thousand miles from there! How long have I been out of my
head?"

"Don't know. I've only known you since sundown. You've just gone
through a remarkable change of front."

"What day of the month is it?"

"The third day of December."

"Hell! Six months ago. It happened in June, Of course, six months is
time enough for me to get here, but why can't I remember coming?
Someone must have brought me."

"Not necessarily. You were walking along, caring for yourself, but
hungry. I br