"Most lungers is," was Overland's cheerful comment. "They're sore on
their luck. They ain't really sore at the big works. They only think so.
I've knowed lots of 'em that way."
"To-night,--here in this canon,--with the stars and the desert so near,
you almost persuade me that there is something."
"Hold on, Billy! You're grazin' on the wrong side of the range if you
think I'm preachin'. My God! I hate preachin' worse than I could hate
hell if I thought they was one. My little old ideas is mine. I roped 'em
and branded 'em and I'm breakin' 'em in to ride to suit me. I ain't
askin' nobody to risk gettin' throwed ridin' any of my stock. Sabe?"
"But a chap may peek through the fence and watch, mayn't he?"
"Sure! Mebby you're breakin' some stock of your own like that. If you
are, any little old rig I got is yours."
"Thank you. And I'm not joking. Perhaps I'll get the right grip on
things later. I've been used to town and the pace. I've always had
money, but I never felt really clean, inside and out, until now. I
never before burned my bridges and went it under my own flag."
Overland nodded sagely. "Uhuh. It's the air. Your feelin' clean and
religious-like is nacheral up here.
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