"Me for bed," said Jim Walker. "After that jamboree las' night I feel's
though I c'd sleep a month."

"Wait a minute till I tell you 'bout me havin' Bull down t' th' Junction
las' week, an' him chasin' th' fox," Bill said.

"Tell nothin'," Jim answered. "Me for th' hay."

"Aw, g'wan," protested Bill. "'Twon't take a minute, an' you got all
'ternity t' sleep in, as the poet says."

"An' I c'n use it," Jim yawned; "but cut loose, an' make it short."

"Well," Bill began, "las' week Thursday I was goin' down t' th' Junction
for feed, an' I takes Bull along. You know how he likes t' ride in a
wagon? 'S almost human. Why, that there animal--"

"Here, cut out them side comments," commanded Jim. "We know how smart
that dog is, without your tellin' us any further. Get down t' bed rock!"

"Well," Bill continued, "when we gets t' th' store, an' Al Strong's
nigger's loadin' th' feed in th' wagon, I allows t' take Bull for a
little stroll 'round, so's he c'n stretch his legs. So I ties a halter
t' his collar an' starts out. I isn't exactly leadin' Bull, he's sort o'
leadin' me, for you all know how strong he is. But we sure needs th'
halter t' make Bull keep th' peace. He's had more fights at that there
Junction! Say, he's the fightenist dog"--a warning look from Jim kept
Bill to the thread of his story.

"We passes th' homes of all Bull's live enemies, an' th' graves of his