“I caught sight of Tim just once. A vivid flash of lightning gave me a glimpse of him, struggling like a Trojan in his midnight battle with the brutes. He was right in front of that wave of clashing horns. I clapped spurs into my pony to reach and help him; but the herd swept on like a torrent. And it kept on going until daylight broke. When I could get my bearings, I found myself miles away from camp with only about half the bunch. Tim was nowhere to be seen. After a while two of the boys came up and we headed the herd back. They were tired enough to be pretty tame. About sun-up we found Tim, half dead, and almost buried under Old Buck, whose useful life had been crushed out under the ripping hoofs of the steers. We carried Tim to camp, made a litter out of poles and blankets, and took him between two horses to the nearest station, flagged a through train and sent him down to Denver. He got over it enough to live, but he’s a cripple and always will be.” “That’s too damned bad!” said Jim, soberly; “but it’s the kind o’ pay that’s coming to a good many of us cowpunchers.” “Oh, cheer up, Jamie, cheer up, me boy,” said Pat; “ye can’t die more’n once.” “‘Tain’t the dyin’ that rubs,” returned Jim; “it’s this livin’ on when ye’re dead. I’d rather hev my old candle snuffed out first shot.” “Sure, me boy, sure!” agreed Pat, “but phwat would it mane, d’ye think, if we all got pitched out of this old world without a word o’ warnin’? The angels wouldn’t be ready fer us at all, at all. We’d git a hill of a wilcome.” “We’ll git that anyway,” Jim broke into the laugh that followed. “Will, I don’t know as I moind that so bad,” Pat went on dryly, “since I heard Mike O’Larney tell about it.” “How was that?” asked Jim. “Will, Mike had a dream one night. He dreamed he wint to the Great Behoind, and while he was there he visited both places. “‘And how did you like ’em?’ I asked of him when he was a-tellin’ me. “‘Will, Pat,’ sez he, ‘to be honest wid ye, I like hiven fer scenery; but give me hill for auld acquaintance.’” “That’s all right, Pat,” said Jim, when the boys quieted again, “but I’m thinkin’ that I don’t want to be livin’ in hell here, like Tim Carter.” “Well,” said Pat, “maybe the other side ain’t such a hivenly place, after all. Fer my part, I don’t think I’d take kindly to wearin’ wings an’ playin’ Jews’ harps fer all eternity.” “I guess you’re right, old boy; but who knows?--I tell you, Pat, let’s make a bargain.” “What’s that?” “Well, if I die first, I’ll send my ghost back to tell you how things are over there; and if you die first you come back and tell me.” “The divil you say. That’s a mighty spooky bargain, Jamie. I’ll agree to it though; but to spake me moind freely, me boy, I’ve no likin’ for ghosts.” “Oh, bah! there ain’t any,” said Noisy. “Ain’t, eh! well, you niver seen one, that’s all.” “Naw--ner never will!” “I’m not so sure about that. I think I spied one the other night when I was gittin’ some water.” “Where?”