"Up-State," says Billy, "buck up. You got more lives'n a cat." "No show," Up-State whispers back. He was funny that-a-way. Now, most lungers fool theyselves. Allus "goin' to git better," y' savvy. But Up-State--_he knew_. "Come over to my tent t'-night," he goes on to Billy. "I got somethin' I want to talk to you about." "All right," says Billy. "Two haids is better 'n one, if one _is_ a sheep's haid." After supper, I passed Silverstein's two 'r three times, and about nine o'clock I seen Macie. She was 'way back towards the end of the store, a lamp and a book in front of her; and she was a-workin' like a steam-thrasher. Somehow it come over me all to oncet then that she'd meant ev'ry single word she said, and that, sooner 'r later--she was goin'. _Goin'_. And I'd be stayin' behind. I looked 'round me. Say! Briggs City didn't show up _much_. "Without _her,_" I says, (they was that red-hot-iron feelin' inside of me again) "--without her, what is it?--the jumpin'-off place!" Beyond me, a piece, was Up-State's tent. A light was burnin' inside it, too, and Doc Trowbridge was settin' in the moonlight by the openin'. Behind him, I could see Up-State, writin'. I trailed home to my bunk. But you can understand I didn't sleep good. And 'way late, I had a dream. I dreamed the Bar Y herd broke fence and stampeded through Briggs, and after 'em come about a hunderd bull-whackers, all a-layin' it on to them steers with the flick of they lashes _-zip, zip, zip, zip_. Next mornin, I woke quick--with a jump, y' might say. I looked at my nickel turnip. It was five-thirty. I got up. The sun was shinin', the air was nice and clear and quiet and the larks was just singin' away. But outside, along the winda-sill, was stretched _a' inch-wide trickle of sand!_ In no time I was hoofin' it down the street. When I got to Up-State's tent, Billy Trowbridge was inside it, movin' 'round, puttin' stuff into a trunk, and--wipin' the sand outen his eyes. "He was right?" I says, when I goes in, steppin' soft, and whisperin'--like Up-State 'd allus whispered. Billy turned to me and kinda smiled, fer all he felt so all-fired bad. "Yas, Cupid," he says, "he was right. One more storm." Just then, from the station-- "Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides On its fair, windin' way to the sea--" Billy walked over to the bed and looked down. "Up-State, ole man," he says, "you're a-goin' back to the Mohawk." * * * * * Up-State left two letters behind him--one fer me and one fer Billy. The doc didn't show hisn; said it wouldn't be just _pro_feshnal--yet. But mine he ast me to read to the boss.