"Braxton must have had a nice crack of some kind or other on the head," he said, "and he still feels the effects of it, as now and then he reels." "'Twould hev been a good thing," said Shif'less Sol, "ef the crack, whatever it may hev been, hed been a lot harder, hard enough to finish him. I ain't bloodthirsty, but it would help a lot if Braxton Wyatt wuz laid away. Paul, you're eddicated, an' you hev done a heap o' thinkin', enough, I guess, to last a feller like Long Jim fur a half dozen o' lives, now what makes a man turn renegade an' fight with strangers an' savages ag'inst his own people?" "I think," replied Paul, "that it's disappointment, and fancied grievances. Some people want to be first, and when they can't win the place they're apt to say the world is against 'em, in a conspiracy, so to speak, to defraud 'em of what they consider their rights. Then their whole system gets poisoned through and through, and they're no longer reasoning human beings. I look upon Braxton Wyatt as in a way a madman, one poisoned permanently." "I hev noticed them things, too," said Shif'less Sol. "Thar are diff'unt kinds o' naturs, the good an' the bad, an' the bad can't bear for other people to lead 'em. Then they jest natchelly hate an' hate. All through the day they hate, an' ef they ain't got nothin' to do, even ef the weather is fine 'nuff to make an old man laugh, they jest spend that time hatin'. An' ef they happen to wake up at night, do they lay thar an' think what a fine world it is an' what nice people thar are in it? No, sir, they jest spend all the time between naps hatin', an' they fall asleep ag'in, with a hate on thar lips an in' thar hearts." "You're talkin' re'l po'try an' truth at the same time, Sol," said Long Jim. "It's cur'ous how people hate them that kin do things better than theirselves. Now, I've noticed when I'm cookin' buffler steaks an' deer meat an' wild turkey an' nice, juicy fish, an' cookin' mebbe better than anybody else in all Ameriky kin, how you, Shif'less Sol Hyde, turn plum' green with envy an' begin makin' disrespeckful remarks 'bout me, Jim Hart, who hez too lofty an' noble a natur ever to try to pull you down, poor an' ornery scrub that you be." Shif'less Sol drew himself up with haughty dignity. "Jim Hart," he said, "I'm wrapped 'bout with the mantle o' my own merit so well from head to foot that them invig'ous remarks o' yours bounce right off me like hail off solid granite. To tell you the truth, Jim Hart, I feel like a big stone mountain, three miles high, with you throwin' harmless leetle pebbles at me." "And yet," said Paul, "while you two are always pretending to quarrel, each would be eager to risk death for the other if need be."