"'But I'll have to sleep on these yere plains,' says Bill a heap
plaintif.

"'Thar's better sports than you-all slept on them plains,' says the
soopercilious gent.

"Meanwhile, thar's a move or two, speshully the way he bats his
eyes, about this soopercilious gent that sets Bill to rummagin'
'round in his mem'ry. At last he asks:

"'Is your name Rawlins?'

"'Yes, sir, my name's Rawlins,' says the soopercilious gent.

"'Jim Rawlins of Roanoke?'

"'Jim Rawlins of Roanoke;' an' the soopercilious gent reaches inside
the door of the dugout, searches forth a rifle an' pumps a cartridge
into the bar'l.

"'Stan' your hand, Jim!' says Bill, at the same time slidin' to the
ground with the hoss between him an' his relatif; 'don't get
impetyoous. I'm your brother Bill.'

"'What!' says the soopercilious gent, abandonin' them hostile
measures, an' joy settlin' over his face. 'What!' he says; 'you my
brother Bill? Well, don't that beat grizzly b'ars amazin'! Come in,
Bill, an' rest your hat. Which it's simply the tenderness of hell I
don't miss you.'