“I know that’s regulation with you-all,” Laramie answered soberly. “Nope, I don’t bet. Can’t afford to, after only thirty year workin’ for grub. But you needn’t lay any plate for me. When I ride, I ride in the cars. And, while you or’nary brute punchers are still ruinin’ hawsses, I’ll be eatin’ off French mee-noos and sleepin’ in a real bed. Anybody who thinks I don’t mean it had better make me an offer on my saddle. I’ve fired myself, and I’m done.” * * * * * “True to his promise, several days later Laramie found himself at the railway station of the shipping town--a wayside town bared upon the bare plains, drenched with sun and dust--a spasmodic little town livened at intervals, as now, by the beef herds bawling in the pens and shutes, and by the brown, rollicking riders turned loose from the durance of the trail for their brief fling. Easy come, easy go, this, where (in the language of the country) “the coyote howls and the poker-chips rattle and money rolls up-hill!” Wow! A rebound to riotous living, even to the extent of canned peaches and canned cream; then--“back to the sage and sun.” Therefore, the session being limited and sentiment for a “plumb idjit” scant, Laramie, having rigorously declined invitations to a farewell that might have cut his travels short again, was alone at the station. Behind him the revels beckoned. He licked his lips thirstily. He had shed his chaps; he had consigned his saddle and bridle and bed-roll also to Tex, for disposal. Somebody would buy them--and pay out of future earnings. But he was free, and he had his ticket, and money besides--hard money for that feed, and a thee-ater, and a “top” bed with sheets and pillers; reckoned he’d have to get a nightshirt! The long train thundered in. And he (a figure _sui generis_, in his high-heeled boots and his big hat and his stained checkered blouse and his dusty trousers shaped to irrevocably bowed legs) was stumping down the line, when he brought up against another figure, just mounting the steps of a Pullman. This was his critic, name of Bunyan. “Hello, my man.” Mr. Bunyan paused “Stock-tender, eh? Did you decide to stay on for another try?” “No sir,” said Laramie, holding himself in stern check. “It happens yore stock-tenders don’t travel on passenger cars. They travel caboose, if they’re lucky. Besides, yore cows are old enough to travel alone, and so am I. I’ve quit; I’ve drawed my pay and I’m headin’ for Kansas City, never more to roam.” Mr. Bunyan smiled with smile exasperating. “You are, are you? Hunting a job there?” “I suppose I’ll have to earn my keep, after I’ve been fed up and to a thee-ater. Reckon I’ll enjoy life a little, fust.” Mr. Bunyan laughed.