It was Johnny Patton, cook for the Pool wagon, that spoke unto Cornelius Brown and Tinnin, of the Toyah crowd, suggesting the advisability of slaying a tramp or so. “Too harsh,” remarked Burt Mossman. “I speak for a Kangaroo Court.” “A word to the Y’s is sufficient,” said Tinnin. Thus the pit was digged and thus the net contrived, the three collaborators appropriating the leading parts unto themselves. A particularly “gall-y” and tenacious tramp, who had adopted the V V wagon, was cast for the star. He was to be “It.” Minor places were filled and drilled; the rest of us were Roman populace. The curtain rose promptly after dinner. Brown and Tinnin began to bicker. Tinnin alleged that Brown had ridden to the wagon for water and stayed for the whole forenoon. Furthermore, he sang a few stanzas from his favorite ditty, _The Expert Cow-man_, as bearing on the subject in hand: “Put him on day herd, he’s sleepin’ all day, First thing that starts out is sure to get away; Comes home in the evenin’, he’ll blame it on the screws, And swear the lazy devils were trying to take a snooze.” Brown, highly indignant, demanded his time. To this Tinnin demurred, saying that Brown knew very well that he, Tinnin, would have no money till the steers were sold. They squabbled, L. C., until the others pacified them and proposed town and a drink to drown unkindness, which they did, inviting the tramp to go with them. To this he acceded joyously, not having learned to dread the gifts of the Greeks. They took several sniffs at the peace-pipeline. Then Brown launched into an interminable yarn of hairbreadth ’scapes and ventures dire. Every time he named a new man he gave that man’s ancestry, biography, acts and connections, with any collateral information at hand. And the more he talked the further he got from the latter end of his tale. Tinnin got unsteadily to his feet. “Hol’ on!” he said. “Hol’ on! That ’minds me of a song-- “He’ll tell you of a certain trip he made up the trail; Taking half of Kansas to finish up his tale; He’s handled lots of cattle, and this is what he says: He’s getting sixty dollars the balance of his days.” At this insult Brown stood on his tiptoes. “What!” says he, and jumped forward. Ward and John Henry Boucher caught him. There was a terrific scuffle, yells, howls: “Leggo, there!” “Look out! He’s goin’ to shoot!” etc. Same business for Tinnin, worked up most spiritedly. Those who had to giggle left the room. We got Brown out and hustled him to camp, calling on the tramp (his name was Harris) to assist. Brown raged: “I’ve had good and plenty of that song the last month! I’ve got a plumb full of his slurs! If that (past-participled) old blowhard throws any more of that (modified) song my way, he’ll get it, and get it hard! He’s been picking at me long enough.”