"Speakin' man to man, son, I didn't think that, but I thought I'd sort of feel my way."
"Which I'll say you're lucky you didn't try to feel your way with pa; not the way he's feelin' now."
In the shack of the house he placed the best chair for Nash and set about frying ham and making coffee. This with crackers, formed the meal. He watched Nash eat for a moment of solemn silence and then the foreman looked up to catch a meditative chuckle from the youngster.
"Let me in on the joke, son."
"Nothin'. I was just thinkin' of pa."
"What's he sore about? Come out short at poker lately?"
"No; he lost a hoss. Ha, ha, ha!"
He explained: "He's lost his only standin' joke, and now the laugh's on pa!"
Nash sipped his coffee and waited. On the mountain desert one does not draw out a narrator with questions.
"There was a feller come along early this mornin' on a lame hoss," the story began. "He was a sure enough tenderfoot—leastways he looked it an' he talked it, but he wasn't."