He dropped into his opera tunes for a while; but evidently it was not “Fatinitza” and his vanished holiday over which he was chiefly meditating, for presently he exclaimed: “I'll give them a shooting-match in the morning. You shoot?” Bolles hoped he was going to learn in this country, and exhibited a Smith & Wesson revolver. Drake grieved over it. “Wrap it up warm,” said he. “I'll lend you a real one when we get to the Malheur Agency. But you can eat, anyhow. Christmas being next week, you see, my programme is, shoot all A.M. and eat all P.M. I wish you could light on a notion what prizes to give my buccaroos.” “Buccaroos?” said Bolles. “Yep. Cow-punchers. Vaqueros. Buccaroos in Oregon. Bastard Spanish word, you see, drifted up from Mexico. Vogel would not care to have me give 'em money as prizes.” At this Uncle Pasco opened an eye. “How many buccaroos will there be?” Bolles inquired. “At the Malheur Agency? It's the headquarters of five of our ranches. There ought to be quite a crowd. A dozen, probably, at this time of year.” Uncle Pasco opened his other eye. “Here, you!” he said, dragging at his box under the seat. “Pull it, can't you? There. Just what you're after. There's your prizes.” Querulous and watchful, like some aged, rickety ape, the old man drew out his trinkets in shallow shelves. “Sooner give 'em nothing,” said Dean Drake. “What's that? What's the matter with them?” “Guess the boys have had all the brass rings and glass diamonds they want.” “That's all you know, then. I sold that box clean empty through the Palouse country last week, 'cept the bottom drawer, and an outfit on Meacham's hill took that. Shows all you know. I'm going clean through your country after I've quit Silver City. I'll start in by Baker City again, and I'll strike Harney, and maybe I'll go to Linkville. I know what buccaroos want. I'll go to Fort Rinehart, and I'll go to the Island Ranch, and first thing you'll be seeing your boys wearing my stuff all over their fingers and Sunday shirts, and giving their girls my stuff right in Harney City. That's what.” “All right, Uncle. It's a free country.” “Shaw! Guess it is. I was in it before you was, too. You were wet behind the ears when I was jammin' all around here. How many are they up at your place, did you say?” “I said about twelve. If you're coming our way, stop and eat with us.” “Maybe I will and maybe I won't.” Uncle Pasco crossly shoved his box back. “All right, Uncle. It's a free country,” repeated Drake.