was," was his tribute to the dead.

It seemed as though, when he closed the cabin door behind him, he
somehow shut out his newborn satisfaction. "A shack with one window is
sure unpleasant when the sun is shining outside," he said fretfully
to himself. "This joint looks a heap like a cellar. I wonder what the
girl thought of it; I reckon it looked pretty sousy, to her--and them
with everything shining. Oh, hell!" He took off his chaps and his
spurs, rolled another cigarette and smoked it meditatively. When it
had burned down so that it came near scorching his lips, he lighted a
fire, carried water from the creek, filled the dishpan and set it
on the stove to heat. "Darn a dirty shack!" he muttered, half
apologetically, while he was taking the accumulation of ashes out of
the hearth.

For the rest of that day he was exceedingly busy, and he did not
attempt further explanations to himself. He overhauled the bunk
and spread the blankets out on the wild rose bushes to sun while
he cleaned the floor. Billy's way of cleaning the floor was
characteristic of the man, and calculated to be effectual in the main
without descending to petty details. All superfluous objects that
were small enough, he merely pushed as far as possible under the bunk.
Boxes and benches he piled on top; then he brought buckets of water
and sloshed it upon the worst places, sweeping and spreading it with
a broom. When the water grew quite black, he opened the door, swept
it outside and sloshed fresh water upon the grimy boards. While
he worked, his mind swung slowly back to normal, so that he sang
crooningly in an undertone; and the song was what he had sung for
months and years, until it was a part of him and had earned him his
nickname.