“Sakes and saints, but that was a mean position!” burst out Scipio. “I had to tell all comers anything all day. Stand up and jump language hot off my brain at ’em. And the pay don’t near compensate for the drain on the system. I don’t care how good a man is, you let him keep a-tappin’ his presence of mind right along, without takin’ a lay-off, and you’ll have him sick. Yes, sir. You’ll hit his nerves. So I told them they could hire some fresh man, for I was goin’ back to punch cattle or fight Indians, or take a rest somehow, for I didn’t propose to get jaded, and me only twenty-five years old. There ain’t no regular Colonel Cyrus Jones any more, yu’ know. He met a Cheyenne telegraph pole in seventy-four, and was buried. But his palace was doin’ big business, and he had been a kind of attraction, and so they always keep a live bear outside, and some poor fello’, fixed up like the Colonel used to be, inside. And it’s a turruble mean position. Course I’ll cook for yu’. Yu’ve a dandy memory for faces!” “I wasn’t right convinced till I kicked him off and you gave that shut to your eyes again,” said the Virginian. Once more the door opened. A man with slim black eyebrows, slim black mustache, and a black shirt tied with a white handkerchief was looking steadily from one to the other of us. “Good day!” he remarked generally and without enthusiasm; and to the Virginian, “Where’s Schoffner?” “I expaict he’ll have got his bottle by now, Trampas.” Trampas looked from one to the other of us again. “Didn’t he say he was coming back?” “He reminded me he was going for a bottle, and afteh that he didn’t wait to say a thing.” Trampas looked at the platform and the railing and the steps. “He told me he was coming back,” he insisted. “I don’t reckon he has come, not without he clumb up ahaid somewhere. An’ I mus’ say, when he got off he didn’t look like a man does when he has the intention o’ returnin’.” At this Scipio coughed, and pared his nails attentively. We had already been avoiding each other’s eye. Shorty did not count. Since he got aboard, his meek seat had been the bottom step. The thoughts of Trampas seemed to be in difficulty. “How long’s this train been started?” he demanded. “This hyeh train?” The Virginian consulted his watch. “Why, it’s been fanning it a right smart little while,” said he, laying no stress upon his indolent syllables. “Huh!” went Trampas. He gave the rest of us a final unlovely scrutiny. “It seems to have become a passenger train,” he said. And he returned abruptly inside the caboose. “Is he the member who don’t sing?” asked Scipio. “That’s the specimen,” replied the Southerner. “He don’t seem musical in the face,” said Scipio. “Pshaw!” returned the Virginian. “Why, you surely ain’t the man to mind ugly mugs when they’re hollow!”