“You’ll get caught.”
“No, I won’t. I’m not going across, I tell you, and that’s all there is to it! I guess I’ll have something to say about things. I’m going to see you safely over, and that’s the last you’ll ever see of Charley Gibson.”
“Oh, well!” Jeff reflected a little. “If you’re sure you won’t come along, I’d rather swim. My horse is strong yet. You see, it takes time to find a boat, and a boat means a house and dogs; and I’ll need my horse on the other side. How’ll you get to El Paso? Griffith’ll likely come down here about an hour by sun, ’cross lots, a-cryin’.”
“I’ll manage that,” said Gibson curtly enough. “You tend to your own affair.”
“Oh, all right!” Jeff rode ahead. He whistled; then he chanted his war song:
“Said the little Eohippus:
‘I’m going to be a horse!
And on my middle fingernails
To run my earthly course!’
The Coryphodon was horrified;
The Dinoceras was shocked;
And they chased young Eohippus,
But he skipped away and mocked.
“Said they: ‘You always were as small
And mean as now we see,
And that’s conclusive evidence
That you’re always going to be.
What! Be a great, tall, handsome beast,
With hoofs to gallop on?
Why! You’d have to change your nature!’
Said the Loxolophodon.”
“Jeff!”
“Well?” Jeff turned his head. Charley was drooping visibly.
“Stop that foolish song!”
Jeff rode on in silence. This was a variable person, Gibson. They were dropping down from the mesa into the valley of the Rio Grande.