Nevada mountain-meadow trails, when he happens upon a low, squatty
dugout, the same bein' a camp rather than a house, an' belongs with
a hay ranche. In the door is standin' a most ornery seemin' gent,
with long, tangled ha'r an' beard, an' his clothes looks like he's
shorely witnessed times. The hands of this ha'ry gent is in his
pockets, an' he exhibits a mighty soopercilious air. Bill pulls up
his cayouse for a powwow.

"How far is it to a place where I can camp down for the night?' asks
Bill.

"'It's about twenty miles to the next wickeyup,' says the
soopercilious gent.

"'Which I can't make it none to-night, then,' says Bill.

"'Not on that hoss,' says the soopercilious gent, for Bill's pony
that a-way is plenty played.

"'Mebby, then,' says Bill, ` I'd better bunk in yere.'

"'You can gamble you-all don't sleep yere,' says the soopercilious
gent; 'none whatever!'

'An' why not?' asks Bill.

"'Because I won't let you,' says the soopercilious gent, a-bitin'
off a piece of tobacco. 'This is my camp, an' force'ble invasions by
casooal hold-ups like you, don't preevail with me a little bit. I
resents the introosion on my privacy.'