of Jerry's, bein' a thief. Shore, he can't he'p it; he's a born
kleptomaniac. Leastwise 'kleptomaniac' is what Colonel Sterett calls it
when he's tellin' me of a party who's afflicted sim'lar.

"'Otherwise this gent's a heap respectable,' says the Colonel. 'Morally
speakin' thar's plenty who's worse. Of course, seein' he's crowdin'
forty years, he ain't so shamefully innocent neither. He ain't no
debyootanty; still, he ain't no crime-wrung debauchee. I should say he
grades midway in between. But deep down in his system this person's a
kleptomaniac, an' at last his weakness gets its hobbles off an' he turns
himse'f loose, an' begins to jest nacherally take things right an' left.
No, he don't get put away in Huntsville; they sees he's locoed an' he's
corraled instead in one of the asylums where thar's nothin' loose an'
little kickin' 'round, an' tharfore no temptations.'

"Takin' the word then from Colonel Sterett, Jerry is a kleptomaniac. I
used former to hobble Jerry but one mornin' I'm astounded to see what
looks like snow all about my camp. Bein' she's in Joone that snow theery
don't go. An' it ain't snow, it's flour; this kleptomaniac Jerry creeps
to the waggons while I sleeps an' gets away, one after the other, with
fifteen fifty-pound sacks of flour. Then he entertains himse'f an' Tom
by p'radin' about with the sacks in his teeth, shakin' an' tossin' his
head an' powderin' my 'Pride of Denver' all over the plains. Which Jerry
shore frosts that scenery plumb lib'ral.

"It's the next night an' I don't hobble Jerry; I pegs him out on a
lariat. What do you-all reckon now that miscreant does? Corrupts pore
Tom who you may be certain is sympathisin' 'round, an' makes Tom go to
the waggons, steal the flour an' pack it out to him where he's pegged.
The soopine Tom, who otherwise is the soul of integrity, abstracts six