Half asleep, the Wildcat mumbled to a buzzing fly. "'At's it. Tryin' to bust yo' brains out on de window glass. 'At's how come you ain't got none. Cravin' to git loose all de time. S'pose you git loose? Whah at would you go? Some ol' spidah'd git you de fust mile. Ca'm yo'se'f. Heah you is in de sunshine an' all warmed up. You jess like folks--neveh knows when you's lucky." The Wildcat's soliloquy was interrupted by a verbal volley from the Sheriff. "Here's your letter. Take it down to the railroad office in Portland; they'll pay you the thousand-dollar reward for helping capture that pair of train robbers." "Cap'n, yessuh. Neveh seed so much money. Sho' come easy." "Come easy, go easy. I suppose you'll load yourself up on square-face gin and get rolled the first night you're in town." "No, suh, not me! I aims to 'vest mah money in de fried smelt business. Right now I's a Pullman porter. In Poteland mebbe I sees kin I buy myself free. Anyway, I starts me a smelt fish business. River's full ob ol' smelt fish. I ketches me a wagon load. I builds me a fire in mah fish wagon, an' when de fish is fried I sells 'em two bits a pan to de Poteland niggers. Neveh seed a nigger 'at wouldn't trade two bits fo' a belly full o' fish." "Good-bye. Good luck with your smelt fish enterprise." The Sheriff terminated the interview. The Wildcat stowed his thousand-dollar-reward letter in the inside pocket of the parade-leading Prince Albert which had seen temporary service as a Pullman porter's uniform. He made his way to the railroad station and sat down at a point where a splash of sunlight dived into a pool of heat which radiated from the wall of the depot. For a little while his neck muscles held his head erect, and then, with his drooping eyelids, his head fell forward. His meandering tongue offered an irresistible invitation to the mumbling fly which had escaped with the Wildcat from the Sheriff's office. The fly enjoyed the viscous environment until he succeeded in getting himself all squashed up in an instinctive gesture back of which were the clutching fingers of the Wildcat's swinging hand. "Fly, how come you so confidential? 'At's mah pussonal tongue. On yo' way." The buzzer was batted into oblivion. A moment later the roar of an incoming train sounded in the Wildcat's ears. "Fly sho' was handy. Sho' did me a good turn wakin' me up. Mebbe dey's got brains just like folks, else how come dey knows when it's train time?" He boarded the train and settled down in a seat in the smoking car. A Pullman porter from the twelve-wheeled battleship on the aft end of the train came forward and encountered the Wildcat. "Mawnin', boy; whah at you bound?" "Poteland." "You a Poteland boy?"