“You still got the ax?” squeaks Scenery. “Wonderful! Go home and cut some wood. I think your fire’s out.” “While you old spavs are fighting for honors, what’s the matter with considering me?” I asks. “You’re all so danged old and stove-up that you’d have to lead it in a lumber-wagon. Look at me, and step back in the ranks. I’m young, handsome——” “Pause!” yelps Scenery. “Pause, Hen. It takes brains to lead a pe-rade.” “Then let’s not quarrel,” says I. “We ain’t eligible. Let’s settle these little details later and in a place what ain’t so dry. It won’t be the Fourth of July until day after tomorrow, so let’s adjourn.” * * * * * They agrees. Scenery and Hank goes home, and I goes up to the bunk-house, where “Telescope” Tolliver and Muley are playing pitch. “Hen, what has the committee decided to do?” askes Telescope. I tells him what our plans are, so far, and while I’m telling in comes “Chuck” Warner, the prize liar of Yaller Rock County. Chuck punches cows with us for a living, and carries the greatest assortment of prevarications on earth as a side-line. I been with him so long that at times I shades the truth a little, too. “They can’t all lead the pe-rade, that’s a cinch,” states Chuck. “I seen a pe-rade down to New York one time that——” “You never was in New York,” states Telescope. “I was born there,” declares Chuck, wiggling his ears. “In Pima County, Arizona,” says Telescope. “I know when, too, Chuck.” “Dates don’t count, Telescope. I said I was born in New York, and it’s my business if I wants to stick to my statement. Now, Telescope, if you said you was born in a teepee on a Digger reservation I wouldn’t argue with you for a minute. I’d take it as Gospel. A feller has a right to a birthplace, and I takes New York.” That argument shows Chuck Warner in his native state. He’s got a face like a bronc, shortest legs on earth, and can wiggle his ears like a burro. The only time he can’t look yuh square in the eye is when he’s telling the truth. “Yuh ought to get somebody with a little style to lead that pe-rade, Hen,” opines Muley. “Might get ‘Pole Cat’ Perkins or ‘Harelip’ Hansen,” laughs Telescope. “Have Harelip ride one of his goats, and have Pole Cat walk slow behind him, leading a skunk. Have the goat wear the old man’s striped pants, and put Scenery’s hat on the skunk.” “You fellers ought to be on the committee,” says I, sarcastic-like. “Yuh might get up your own pe-rade.” “That’s a good scheme,” agrees Chuck. “We’ll form a offensive and defensive alliance.” “Offensive is right,” says I, and then I goes up to see the old man. The next morning me and the old man goes to Paradise, and goes into executive session, with Scenery and Hank, in the rear of Dug Chaffin’s saloon. Hank pounds on the table with his boot heel, and calls the roll. We’re all present. “Gents,” asks Hank, “who is going to lead the pe-rade?” We looks at each other, and then the old man clears his throat.