Such were the running mates of Uncle Bill Malone; all good fellows, and harmless, except to their own constitutions. They stood in their own light but no one could say aught against any of them, barring the fact that he drank to excess, and that was a common complaint at that time. They had lived together so long, and enjoyed one another’s society to such an extent that, up to the time of Uncle Billy’s death, with the exception of a few business associations, they shunned the rest of mankind, not that they were ashamed but that ordinary men bored them. Their circle was complete. On a cold--bitter cold--night in December, 18--, the angel of death knocked at the cabin door of Uncle Billy Malone. Without warning, and suddenly, the call came. The old man had not been feeling well for several days, but he had not complained to his companions. The facts concerning his last moments are not known to the outside world. The curtain is down and no one can say how Uncle Billy passed from life to eternity. But the charitable must believe that he was sober and clothed in his right mind. The day before the summons came De Ate, as the party was known, foregathered at The Merry Bowl and drank until late. Sid and his father got home just before dark. The next morning, when the son went to arouse his father, he found his body cold in death. But, let us turn to the funeral! Sid Malone behaved like a child in the presence of death. The very thought of being alone and face to face with a dead kinsman seemed to unnerve him. There was but one definite idea in his head and that was that his father had to be buried. “Who is to do it?” he asked himself. “Why, his friends!” was the natural answer. “Who, Col. LaFayette, and the others of De Ate?” Those were the only friends he knew. He had not been to church in forty years, and no preacher had ever put foot in his home. “Is there no woman or minister of the gospel?” asked Sid. “Not one,” echo answered. With these thoughts running through his mind Sid mounted his mule and started to the several homes of his friends to announce the sad news. He had not gone far when he met Col. LaFayette and others, riding through eight inches of snow, on their way to Washington for a drinking frolic. Thinking of nothing but the exhilarating glass that awaited them at The Merry Bowl, they did not recognize Sid Malone as he came riding down the road. The death of his father had softened Sid, and his heart was sore. When his companions came in sight he was thinking of the uncertainty of life and the certainty of death, a subject he had never considered before. The turning place for him, he argued, had come. But alas! he met his old cronies, and the flow of serious thought was diverted. “Turn back, boys, don’t go to town to-day,” said Sid, as he recognized his pals. “Turn back, my daddy’s daid!”