"Why is it?" the kid shouted. "It isn't," Connie said; "look out of the window, it's black." "That isn't a riddle," Pee-wee shouted. "It's a fact," Connie said; "what's the answer to a question?" "You make me tired," the kid screamed; "what kind of a question?" "Any kind," Connie said; "how fast is a mile?" "A mile isn't fast, you crazy Indian!" Pee-wee screamed at him. "That shows----" "All right, how slow is it then?" Connie asked him. "Suppose I have my picture taken." "Well, what?" the kid blurted out. "Nothing," Connie said. "You said, suppose you had your picture taken," Pee-wee screamed. "All right, suppose I did; what of it?" Connie laughed. "He's got a right to have his picture taken, hasn't he?" I said. "You can take mine if you'll bring it back." "You're all crazy," Pee-wee shouted; "you don't know a riddle when you see one. Do you call those riddles? A riddle is something where you ask a question and the answer, kind of, means something else." [Illustration] "Precisely," Westy said; "the same as somewhere is a place you get to, by going to it. Deny it if you can." "Well, there's one place I'm going to," Connie said; "and that's asleep." "If you don't mind, I'll go with you," Wig said. I don't know how it is, but just before we turn in, we always have a lot of nonsense like that. I bet you think we're crazy. Pretty soon Westy and I were the only ones awake. He's so careful he never goes anywhere without thinking it over beforehand--not even to sleep. If he were going to go crazy, he'd have to think it all over beforehand and count ten first. Talk about watching your step; he has his chained. And he always remembers where he puts things, too. He never even loses his temper. I don't lose mine much, but gee whiz, I mislay it sometimes. CHAPTER XXIV UP IN THE AIR "This is a pretty wild country," Westy said; "it's all mountains. Do you hear the echo of the engine?" Just as clear as could be, I could hear the sound of the engine echoing back from the mountains; the chugging and rattling sounded double, like. Then, pretty soon, it kind of died away. After about half a minute, Westy and I just sat staring at each other, listening. "That's funny," he said; "it seems to be going farther away." "It sounds like the trains when you hear them at Temple Camp," I said. He said, "That isn't our train, it's another train; it's over that way. We didn't hear it before, on account of ours." I guess neither of us said anything for about half a minute, and all the while we could hear the rattling of the train, away off somewhere. I said, "Westy, we're slowing down; it feels kind of funny; do you notice?" "How?" he said. "We're slowing down and there isn't any knocking of the cars against each other." We both listened and all the while we could hear the rattling of a train far away. "It feels just the same as it felt when we rolled down the siding," I said; "I don't know, kind of funny--easy like."