He was full o' little ways like this an' entertained me fine; but it was mighty hard to wring any useful work out of him. He used to prune the rose vines, and now and again he'd do a little dustin'; but once when I had to bake sourdough bread, I pointed out that the garden needed weedin', an' explained to him just what effect weedin' had on garden truck. He sez to me, "My motto is, 'Competition results in the survival of the fittest.' I ain't no Socialist." When I asked him what this bunch of words meant, he told me that he didn't know of any exercise 'at would do me so much good as learnin' to think for myself; an' that's all the satisfaction I could get out of him. He was some like other edicated persons I've met up with: when you tried to get him to do something useful, he'd fall back on his book knowledge, roll out a string of high steppin' words, an' then look prepossessed. He was good about one thing, though: he just about took the night trick off my hands, so that I begun catchin' up with my sleep again. He used to load himself down with firearms an' he and Fido would hunt Chinamen two or three hours every night, but he never had no luck. Several times the neighbors rode by an' they told us that the' was a gang breakin' into houses an' stealin', but they couldn't seem to get any track of 'em. One mornin' I was tryin' to find out what made the sewin' machine drop stitches, when he came runnin' in with his eyes stickin' out like a toad's. "He's been sleepin' in the barn," sez he. "Who--the horse?" sez I, thinkin' it was one of his jokes. "No," sez he, "the Chinaman." Well, I looked at him, an' he explained how his suspicions had been aroused, an' that he had made a practice of stirrin' up the straw each evenin', an' then each mornin' would find the print of a man's body but that he had put tar on the ladder without gettin' any evidence. I pricked up my ears at this, an' turned the machine out on pasture for a while. We went to the barn, an' there, sure enough, was the print of a man's body. Then we adjourned to the shade to hatch up a sub-tile plot. We smoked an' hatched until it was time for me to go in an' help with dinner. We was both thinkin' hard, an' finally I sez, "Now, Ches, the craftiest thing for us to do, is for me to cover up in the straw, an' when he lays down, explode my gun against his ribs." He had pestered me a mighty sight, an' I never was partial to 'em nohow. Ches never made any reply; he was what you call engrossed. All of a sudden he leaps to his feet an' slaps me on the shoulder. "Happy," sez he, "are ya game?"