.

He wore a pair of corduroy trousers, known to the care-free as "pants,"
which were held together by numerous patches of what had once been
brilliantly colored calico. A pair of suspenders, torn into two separate
straps, made a belt for himself and a collar for his dog. The trousers
had probably been secured during a fit of absent-mindedness on his part
when their former owner had not been looking. Tucked at intervals in
the top of the corduroys (the exceptions making convenient shelves for
alkali dust) was what at one time had been a stiff-bosomed shirt. This
was open down the front and back, the weight of the trousers on the belt
holding it firmly on the square shoulders of the wearer, thus precluding
the necessity of collar buttons. A pair of moccasins, beautifully worked
with wampum, protected his feet from the onslaughts of cacti and the
inquisitive and pugnacious sand flies; and lying across his lap was
a repeating Winchester rifle, not dangerous because it was empty, a
condition due to the wisdom of the citizens in forbidding any one to
sell, trade or give to him those tubes of concentrated trouble, because
he could get drunk.

The two were contented and happy. They had no cares nor duties, and
their pleasures were simple and easily secured, as they consisted of
sleep and a proneness to avoid moving. Like the untrammeled coyote,
their bed was where sleep overtook them; their food, what the night
wrapped in a sense of security, or the generosity of the cowboys of the
Bar-20. No tub-ridden Diogenes ever knew so little of responsibility or
as much unadulterated content. There is a penalty even to civilization
and ambition.

When the sun had cast its shadows beyond By-and-by's feet the air became
charged with noise; shouts, shots and the rolling thunder of madly
pounding hoofs echoed flatly throughout the town. By-and-by yawned,
stretched and leaned back, reveling in the semi-conscious ecstasy of the
knowledge that he did not have to immediately get up. Fleas opened one
eye and cocked an ear in inquiry, and then rolled over on his back,
squirmed and sighed contentedly and long. The outfit of the Bar-20 had
come to town.

The noise came rapidly nearer and increased in volume as the riders
turned the corner and drew rein suddenly, causing their mounts to slide
on their haunches in ankle-deep dust.

"Hullo, old Buck-with-th'-pants, how's yore liver?"

"Come up an irrigate, old tank!"

"Chase th' flea ranch an