"Injuns coming, pardner! The country's just oozing Injuns! Better get a wiggle on you!"
"All right—slide along, I'll ketch up to you," says he.
I looked back and saw him hustling out with his saddle on his arm. "He's a particular kind of cuss," I thought; "bareback would suit most people."
Taking it a little easier for the next couple of miles, I gave him a chance to pull up.
We pounded along without saying anything for a spell, when I happened to notice that his teeth were chattering.
"Keep your nerve up, pardner!" says I. "Don't you get scared—we've got a good start on 'em."
He looked at me kind of reproachful.
"Scared be derned!" says he. "I reckon if you was riding around this nice cool night in your drawers, your teeth 'ud rattle some, too."
I took a look at him, and saw, sure enough, while he had hat, coat, and boots on, the pants was missing. Well, if it had been the last act, I'd have had to laugh.
"Couldn't find 'em nohow," says he; "hunted high and low, jick, Jack, and the game—Just comes to my mind now that I had 'em rolled up and was sleeping on 'em. I don't like to go around this way'—I feel as if I was two men, and one of 'em hardly respectable."