couldn't look each other in the face. We were accustomed to
hardship and neglect, but here was genuine kindness enough to
kill a cat.

"Until we got within five miles of our camp that morning, old
Bibleback wouldn't speak to me as we rode along. Then he turned
halfway in his saddle and said: 'What kind of folks are those?'
'I don't know,' I replied, 'what kind of people they are, but I
know they are good ones.' 'Well, I'll get even with that little
woman if it takes every sou in my war-bags,' said Hunt.

"When within a mile of camp, Bibleback turned again in his saddle
and asked, 'When is Christmas?' 'In about five weeks,' I
answered. 'Do you know where that big Wyoming stray ranges?' he
next asked. I trailed onto his game in a second. 'Of course I
do.' 'Well,' says he, 'let's kill him for Christmas and give that
little widow every ounce of the meat. It'll be a good one on her,
won't it? We'll fool her a plenty. Say nothing to the others,' he
added; and giving our horses the rein we rode into camp on a
gallop.

"Three days before Christmas we drove up this Wyoming stray and
beefed him. We hung the beef up overnight to harden in the frost,
and the next morning bright and early, we started for the
stage-stand with a good pair of ponies to a light wagon. We
reached the widow's place about eleven o'clock, and against her
protests that she had no use for so much, we hung up eight
hundred pounds of as fine beef as you ever set your peepers on.
We wished her a merry Christmas, jumped into the wagon, clucked
to the ponies, and merely hit the high places getting away. When