“Naw, he didn’t,” said Joe. “Bill was a good deal like his old man. When he had killed all the Indians and bad men, and the country got all peaceful and quiet, he jest couldn’t stand it any longer, and he saddled up his hoss and started west. Out on the New Mexico line he met an old trapper, and they got to talkin’, and Bill told him why he was leavin’, and said if the old man knowed where there was a tough outfit, he’d be much obliged if he would tell him how to git to it. “‘Ride up the draw about two hundred miles,’ says the old trapper, ‘and you’ll find a bunch of guys so tough that they bite nails in two jest for the fun of it.’ “So Bill rides on in a hurry, gittin’ somewhat reckless on account of wantin’ to git to that outfit and git a look at the bad _hombres_ that the old man has told him about. The first thing Bill knowed, his hoss stumps his toe on a mountain and breaks his fool neck rollin’ down the side, and so Bill finds his self afoot. “He takes off his saddle and goes walkin’ on, packin’ it, till all at once he comes to a big rattlesnake. He was twelve feet long and had fangs like the tushes of a _javelina_; and he rears up and sings at Bill and sticks out his tongue like he was lookin’ for a scrap. There wasn’t nothin’ that Bill wouldn’t fight, and he always fought fair; and jest to be shore that rattlesnake had a fair show and couldn’t claim he took advantage of him, Bill let him have three bites before he begun. Then he jest naturally lit into that reptile and mortally flailed the stuffin’ out of him. Bill was always quick to forgive, though, and let by-gones be by-gones, and when the snake give up, Bill took him up and curled him around his neck, and picked up his saddle and outfit and went on his way. “As he was goin’ along through a canyon, all at once a big mountain lion jumped off of a cliff and spraddled out all over Bill. Bill never got excited. He jest took his time and laid down his saddle and his snake, and then he turned loose on that cougar. Well, sir, the hair flew so it rose up like a cloud and the jack-rabbits and road-runners thought it was sundown. It wasn’t long till that cougar had jest all he could stand, and he begun to lick Bill’s hand and cry like a kitten. “Well, Bill jest ears him down and slips his bridle on his head, throws on the saddle and cinches her tight, and mounts the beast. Well, that cat jest tears out across the mountains and canyons with Bill on his back a-spurrin’ him in the shoulders and quirtin’ him down the flank with the rattlesnake. “And that’s the way Bill rode into the camp of the outfit the old trapper had told him about. When he gits there, he reaches out and cheeks down the cougar and sets him on his haunches and gits down and looks at his saddle.