“I’m stuck here until somebody comes and hauls me away. The last house I saw was back down the road a nice little jaunt of about sixty-five miles. Monty Girard drives his Ford like he was working in one of those comedy chases. And it’s four hours by the watch from that last shack to this shack--Monty Girard driving. Figure it yourself, Pat, and guess how many afternoon calls I’ve made on my neighbors. I’m afraid the pinto cat couldn’t walk that far, and it would hurt her feelings if I didn’t ask her to join the party. “Said pinto cat is a psychic. Waddell was a nut of some kind, and the cat caught it. Seems Waddell got the habit of seeing things--though I haven’t located any still yet--and now the cat looks up and meows at the air, and rubs her fur against her imagination. Got my goat the first time she did it--I admit it. I can’t say I feature it yet, her talking and playing up to some gink I can’t see. But I named her Faith and I’ve no kick coming, I reckon, if the eyes of Faith looks up to things of which I kennest not. “I’m wondering if Waddell wasn’t a tall, round-shouldered gink with a bald spot on top of his head the size of a dollar and a half, and a puckered scar on his cheek; a Bret Harte type, before he puts on the mustache. I keep thinking about a guy like that, as if he belonged here. When Faith takes one of her psychic fits, I get a funny idea she’s trying to rub up against that kind of a man. Sounds nutty, but heck knows I never did feature the spook stuff, and I don’t mean I’m goofy now about it. I just keep thinking about that fellow, and there’s times when I get a funny notion he’s standing behind me and I’ll see him if I look around. But get this--it’s good. _I don’t look around!_ It’s over the hills to the bug-house when a fellow starts that boob play. “There’s something wrong about this trick cañon, anyway. I can’t seem to feature it. You can’t make me believe that boob up on the bluff thinks he’s a cuckoo clock and just pops out and hollers because he’s made that way. He’s trying to get my goat and make me iris out of the scene. There’s going to be a real punch in the next reel, and that guy with the big voice will be in front of it. His head is swelled now since he’s scared Waddell out. But he’s going to get a close-up of yours truly--and the big punch of the story. “The other night just after dark I sneaked up the bluff as high as I could get without making a noise so he’d hear me, and laid for him. I was all set to cut loose with that blood-curdling Apache yell dad’s riders used to practice when I was a kid. But he never opened his mouth all night. Made a fool out of me, all right, losing my sleep like that for nothing. Then the next night he started in at sundown and hollered half the night.