Li'l' ole hawss took a bite an' a chew,
'Durned if I don't,' says the ole cow, too."

Seventeen stanzas detailed the adventures of this amazing horse and
predatory cow. Somewhere near the middle of the epic little Royal
Beaudry usually dropped asleep. The rhythmic tale always comforted
him. These nameless animals were very real friends of his. They had
been companions of his tenderest years. He loved them with a devotion
from which no fairy tale could wean him.

Before he had quite surrendered to the lullaby, his father aroused him
to share the bacon and the flapjacks he had cooked.

"Come and get it, big son," Beaudry called with an imitation of manly
roughness.

The boy ate drowsily before the fire, nodding between bites.

Presently the father wrapped the lad up snugly in his blankets and
prompted him while he said his prayers. No woman's hands could have
been tenderer than the calloused ones of this frontiersman. The boy
was his life. For the girl-bride of John Beaudry had died to give this
son birth.

Beaudry sat by the dying fire and smoked. The hills had faded to
black, shadowy outlines beneath a night of a million stars. During the
day the mountains were companions, heaven was the home of warm friendly
sunshine that poured down lance-straight upon the traveler. But now
the black, jagged peaks were guards that shut him into a vast prison of
loneliness. He was alone with God, an atom of no consequence. Many a