“I reckoned yu’ hadn’t noticed him,” was the Virginian’s reply to my ejaculation. “Yes. He set me goin’ on the subject a while back. I expect he is another missionary to us pore cow-boys.” I seemed from a hundred yards to feel the stranger’s forceful personality. It was in his walk--I should better say stalk--as he promenaded along the creek. His hands were behind his back, and there was an air of waiting, of displeased waiting, in his movement. “Yes, he’ll be a missionary,” said the Virginian, conclusively; and he took to singing, or rather to whining, with his head tilted at an absurd angle upward at the sky: “‘Dar is a big Car’lina nigger, About de size of dis chile or p’raps a little bigger, By de name of Jim Crow. Dat what de white folks call him. If ever I sees him I ’tends for to maul him, Just to let de white folks see Such an animos as he Can’t walk around the streets and scandalize me.’” The lane which was conducting us to the group of ranch buildings now turned a corner of the meadow, and the Virginian went on with his second verse: “‘Great big fool, he hasn’t any knowledge. Gosh! how could he, when he’s never been to scollege? Neither has I. But I’se come mighty nigh; I peaked through de door as I went by.’” He was beginning a third stanza, but stopped short; a horse had neighed close behind us. “Trampas,” said he, without turning his head, “we are home.” “It looks that way.” Some ten yards were between ourselves and Trampas, where he followed. “And I’ll trouble yu’ for my rope yu’ took this mawnin’ instead o’ your own.” “I don’t know as it’s your rope I’ve got.” Trampas skilfully spoke this so that a precisely opposite meaning flowed from his words. If it was discussion he tried for, he failed. The Virginian’s hand moved, and for one thick, flashing moment my thoughts were evidently also the thoughts of Trampas. But the Virginian only held out to Trampas the rope which he had detached from his saddle. “Take your hand off your gun, Trampas. If I had wanted to kill yu’ you’d be lying nine days back on the road now. Here’s your rope. Did yu’ expect I’d not know it? It’s the only one in camp the stiffness ain’t all drug out of yet. Or maybe yu’ expected me to notice and--not take notice?” “I don’t spend my time in expectations about you. If--” The Virginian wheeled his horse across the road. “Yu’re talkin’ too soon after reachin’ safety, Trampas. I didn’t tell yu’ to hand me that rope this mawnin’, because I was busy. I ain’t foreman now; and I want that rope.”