"The only way to enjoy such a fine night as this," remarked Ash, "is
to sit up smoking until you fall asleep with your boots on. Between
too much sleep and just enough, there's a happy medium which suits
me."

"Officer," inquired Wyatt Roundtree, trailing into the conversation
very innocently, "why is it that people who live up among those
Yankees always say 'be' the remainder of their lives?"

"What's the matter with the word?" countered Officer.

"Oh, nothing, I reckon, only it sounds a little odd, and there's a
tale to it."

"A story, you mean," said Officer, reprovingly.

"Well, I'll tell it to you," said Roundtree, "and then you can call it
to suit yourself. It was out in New Mexico where this happened. There
was a fellow drifted into the ranch where I was working, dead broke.
To make matters worse, he could do nothing; he wouldn't fit anywhere.
Still, he was a nice fellow and we all liked him. Must have had a good
education, for he had good letters from people up North. He had worked
in stores and had once clerked in a bank, at least the letters said
so. Well, we put up a job to get him a place in a little town out on
the railroad. You all know how clannish Kentuckians are. Let two meet
who never saw each other before, and inside of half an hour they'll be
chewing tobacco from the same plug and trying to loan each other
money."

"That's just like them," interposed Fox Quarternight.