you could call a man a philosopher who can enjoy hammering over this
bald country, chasing up whisky-runners and hazing non-treaty Indians
onto reservations, and raising hell generally in the name of the law.
Still, I don't take life as seriously as I used to. What's the use? We
eat and drink and sleep and work and fight because it's the nature of us
two-legged brutes; but there's no use getting excited about it, because
things never turn out exactly the way you expect them to, anyhow."

"If that's your philosophy of life," I bantered, "you ought to make a
rattling good policeman. I can see where a calm, dispassionate front
would save a man a heap of trouble, at this sort of thing."

"Josh all you like," MacRae laughed, "but I tell you a man does save
himself a heap of trouble when he doesn't get too anxious whether things
come out just as he wants them to or not. Six or seven years ago I
couldn't have done this sort of work. I've changed, I reckon. There was
a time when I'd have felt that there was only one way to settle a row
like I just had. And the chances are that I would have wound up by
putting that old boy's light out. Which wouldn't have helped matters any
for me, and certainly would have been tough on old Piegan Smith--who
happens to be a pretty fair sort; only playing the opposite side of the
game."

As if the low-spoken sound of his name had reached his ears and
electrified him, Piegan sat up very suddenly, and at the same instant
the cook sounded the long call. So we broke off our chat, and getting a
tin plate and cup and a set of eating-implements, we helped ourselves
from the Dutch ovens and squatted in the grass to eat.

When we'd finished, one of the hunters rounded up the horses and we