bunkie that guards your back in a fight; he's the man that can ask for
your hoss or your gun or your life, no matter how bad you want 'em;
he's the gent that trusts you when the world calls you a liar; he's the
one that don't grin when you're in trouble, who gives a cheer when
you're going good. With a friend you let down the bars and turn your
mind loose like wild hosses. I take out my soul like a gun and show it
to my friend in the palm of my hand. It's sure full of holes and
stains, this life of mine, but my friend checks off the good agin' the
bad, and when you're through he says: 'Partner, now I like you better
because I know you better.'

"Son, I don't know what God means very well, and I ain't any bunkie of
the law, but I'm tolerable well acquainted with what the word 'friend'
means. When you use it, you want to look sharp."

"I really believe," Jig said, "that you would be a friend like that. I
think I understand."

"You don't, though. To a friend you give yourself away, and you get
yourself back bigger and stronger."

"I didn't know," said Jig softly, "that friendship could mean all that.
How many friends have you had?"

The big cowpuncher paused. Then he said gently at length, "One friend."

"In all your life?"

"Sure! I was lucky and had one friend."