"You did some magnificent riding, this morning. By Jove! I've never
seen anything like it. Strange that one can come out here into a part
of the country absolutely new and raw, and see things--"

"Oh, it ain't so raw as you might think," Andy defended jealously,
"nor yet new."

"Of course it is new! A commonwealth in the making. You can't," he
asserted triumphantly, "point to anything man-made that existed a
hundred years ago; scarcely fifty, either. Your civilization is yet in
the cradle--a lusty infant, and a--er--vociferous one, but still an
infant in swaddling clothes." Sherwood Branciforte had given lectures
before the Y.M.C.A. of his home town, and young ladies had spoken of
him as "gifted," and he had come to hear of it, and to believe.

Andy Green squinted at the shank before he made reply. Andy, also, was
"gifted," in his modest Western way.

"A country that can now and then show the papers for a civilization
old as the Phenixes of Egypt," he said, in a drawling tone that was
absolutely convincing, "ain't what I'd call raw." He decided that a
little more hammering right next the rowel was necessary, and bent
over the anvil solicitously. Even the self-complacency of Sherwood
Branciforte could not fail to note his utter indifference to the
presence and opinions of his companion. Branciforte was accustomed to
disputation at times--even to enmity; but not to indifference. He
blinked. "My dear fellow, do you realize what it is that statement
might seem to imply?" he queried haughtily.