"It was a good show," continued Slim, doing his best to appear at ease. The frantic corrections of his companions only made him flounder about the more.
"Excuse me," he apologized, "I mean that I enjoyed it."
"Do you recall the subject of my discourse," inquired Mr. Price, coming to his assistance.
"Your what course?" asked Slim.
"My sermon?" answered the parson.
"Well, I should say yes," replied the Sheriff, greatly relieved to think that he was once more out of deep water. "It was about some shorthorn that jumped the home corral to maverick around loose in the alfalfa with a bunch of wild ones."
The explanation was too much for Mr. Price. Great student of the Bible as he had been, here was one lesson which he had not studied. As told by Slim, he could not recall any text or series of text from which he might have drawn similes fitted for his cowboy congregation, when he had one. "Really, I—" he began.
Slim, however, was not to be interrupted. If he stopped he never could begin again, he felt. Waving to the preacher to be silent, he continued his description: "When his wad was gone the bunch threw him down, and he had to hike for the sage-brush an' feed with the hogs on husks an' sech like winter fodder."
The minister caught the word "husks." Slim was repeating his own version of the parable of the Prodigal Son.
"Husks? Oh, the Prodigal Son," smiled Price.