"Which I'm foaled like a mule," said the old gentleman, "a complete
prey to inborn notions ag'in Injuns. I wouldn't have one pesterin'
'round me more'n I'd eat off en the same plate with a snake. I shore
has aversions to 'em a whole lot. Of course, I never sees them Japs,
but I saveys Injuns from feathers to moccasins, an' comparin' Japs
to Injuns, I feels about 'em like old Bill Rawlins says about his
brother Jim's wife."

"And how was that?" I asked.

The afternoon was lazy and good, and I in a mood to listen to my
rambling grey comrade talk of anybody or anything.

"It's this a-way," he began. "This yere Bill an' Jim Rawlins is
brothers an' abides in Roanoke, Virginny. They splits up in their
yooth, an' Jim goes p'intin' out for the West. Which he shore gets
thar, an' nothin' is heard of him for forty years.

"Bill Rawlins, back in Roanoke, waxes a heap rich, an' at last
clears up his game an' resolves lie takes a rest. Also he concloods
to travel; an' as long as he's goin' to travel, he allows he'll sort
o' go projectin' 'round an' see if he can't locate Jim.

"He gets a old an' musty tip about Jim, this Bill Rawlins does, an'
it works out all right. Bill cuts Jim's trail 'way out yonder on the
Slope at a meetropolis called Los Angeles. But this yere Jim ain't
thar none. The folks tells Bill they reckons Jim is over to Virginny
City.

"It's a month later, an' Bill is romancin' along on one of them