“I HEARD SIX YELPS FROM THAT IMP YEGGIE”
“Six yelps,” I repeated, “that means trouble in the hen-houses.”
“Sure,” continued Gringo. “They were pretty sharp yelps, so up I goes to master’s bed, and nips his foot sticking out for coolness.”
“He’s always alive, so out he tumbled, and said, ‘Go ahead, pup.’”
“You like to have him call you pup,” I interjected. “It makes you feel young.”
Gringo’s fine eyes grew soft. “It makes me hark back to the west, and lively days when we both acted like kids.”
“How old are you, Gringo?” I asked curiously.
“Never you mind that, young dog,” he said. “I’m as old as I look, and I look younger than I am, so let me go on with my story. You’re an awful interrupter. The boss and I tumbled over each other to get to young Yeg who was waiting out on the gravel. He pointed for the hen-houses, and there was the grand Sir Walter sparring, dodging, pushing and barking at foolish young Willie who had a box of matches in his hand. The young rap had set fire to every dry patch of grass in the orchard, and neat little blazes were leaping up to greet us—too friendly by a long shot.”