"The eatin'-house 'll buy ev'ry one of these pigs at a good price," I says, leanin' on the pen till I was well nigh broke in two, "they bein' pen-fed, and not just _common_ razor-backs. That'll mean fifty dollars--mebbe more. Why, it's like _findin'_ it!" "These and the chickens," she says, "'ll pay that balance, and" (her voice broke, kinda, and she looked over to where pore little Willie was tryin' to play injine all by hisself) "without the help of _no_ man." I looked up at the Butte. Was that black speck the sheriff? And wasn't his heart a-bustin' fer her? Wal, it shore was a fool sittywaytion! "The section-hands is turrible tickled about these pigs," _con_tinues Mrs. Bridger. "They come over this mornin' t' see how the fambly was doin', and they named the hull litter, beginnin' with Carmelita, and ending' with Polky Dot." You couldn't 'a' blamed _no_body fer bein' proud of them little pigs. They was smarter 'n the dickens, playin' 'round, and kickin' up they heels, and _squee-ee-eelin'_. All black and white they was, too, and favoured they maw strong. Ev'ry blamed one had a pink snoot and a kink in its tail, and reg'lar rolly buckshot eyes. And fat!--say, no josh, them little pigs was so fat they had double chins--just one chin right after another--from they noses plumb back to they hind laigs! But you never can gamble on t'-morra. And the widda, countin' as she did on them pigs, had to find that out. A-course, if she'd been a' Irish lady, she'd 'a' just natu'lly _took_ to ownin' a bunch of hawgs, and she'd 'a' likely penned 'em closter to the house. Then nothin' would 'a' hurt 'em. Again, mebbe it _would_--if the hull thing that happened next was accidentally a-purpose. And I reckon that shore was the truth of it. But I'm a-goin' too fast. It was the mornin' after the Fourth of July. (That was why I was in town.) I was in the Arnaz bunk-house, pullin' on my coat, just afore daylight, when, all of a suddent, right over Rogers's Butte, somethin' popped. Here, acrosst the sky, went a red ball, big, and as bright as if it was on fire. As it come into sight, it had a tail of light a-hangin' to it. It dropped at the foot of the butte. First off, I says, "More celebratin'." Next, I says, "Curry!"--and streaked it fer the widda's. 'Fore I was half-way, I heerd hollerin'--the scairt hollerin' of women and kids. Then I heerd the grumble of men's voices. I yelled myself, hopin' some of the boys 'd hear me, and foller. "Help! help!" I let out at the top of my lungs, and brung up in Mrs. Bridger's yard. It was just comin' day, and I could see that section-gang all collected t'gether, some with picks, and the rest with heavy track tools. All the greaser women was there, too, howlin' like a pack of coy_o_tes. Whilst Mrs. Bridger had the kid in her arms, and her face hid in his little dress. "What's the matter?" I screeched--_had_ t' screech t' git _heerd_.