"That's just it, Mr. McFarlane," came the prompt, distressed complaint.
"What in the nature o' blamed things made me act that way?"
"Jest the—nature o' things, I guess."
The little man's eyes twinkled.
"Guess you mean ther's folks who ain't in their right element in the saddle, an'—I'm one of 'em." Then he turned on Jeff, whose whole interest had been quite absorbed in a personality which Dug had described as being reminiscent of a "buck louse." "Say, Mr. Masters, guess you ain't never tried any stunt like raisin' kebbiges on a hog ranch? No, sure you ain't. Ther's jest one feller runnin' loose on this planet 'ud act that way, an' that's me. Guess I bin doin' it all my life," he added, thoughtfully chewing a forefinger. "I was built for, an' raised in a fifth rate city, an' I got the ideas an' ambitions of the President of a Republic. Ther' ain't a blamed thing I can't do but I want to do. An' the worst of it is ther's a sort o' restless spirit in me jest sets me so crazy to do it I can't resist makin' the jump. That's how I come to buy up a bum homestead up toward the hills here, an' got the notion I could make a pile runnin' a mixed farm that way. That's how I come to get outside a hoss when I'd be safer inside. That's how I come to—'break' a deal more prairie land than I could ever sow or harvest. That's how I bought machinery for a thousand acre farm when I'd only got a half a mile. That's how I come to run a bunch of cows without settin' up fencin' around my crops. That's how I bo't the whole blamed lay-out without verifyin' the darned law feller's statement I'd got grazin' rights on Mr. McFarlane's grass—which is the thing I came right here to yarn about when I got mixed up with that unnatural hell, which I've learned since was only set up to amuse the skitters. Kind o' makes me feel if I was to set fer my pictur' I'd sure come out a shipwreck at sea, or some other darn fool kind of unpleasantness."
Jeff was forced to echo the laugh which Dug indulged in without restraint. It seemed cruel in face of the strange little man's serious distress. But its only effect upon him was to produce an inquiring glance of profound but unresentful astonishment.
"Guess I must 'a' said something," he protested mildly. "Seems to me I most generly do, with Mr. McFarlane around." Then he smiled in his wintry fashion, which was quite powerless to add warmth to his curious aspect of grayness. "Guess he must ha' been born laffin'—p'raps," he added thoughtfully. "It's a dandy thing bein' born laffin'. I don't reckon I ever got that luck. It's more likely my moma got lost in a fog the day I was born. Can't account noways fer things otherwise."
Dug pushed the whisky bottle at him as a set-off to his own uncontrolled mirth, and in a few moments contrived to subdue his paroxysms sufficiently to start the business in hand.
"Now, Masters," he said, as soon as the diminutive Elias had ministered adequately to his glass, "we've got a curious proposition to set before you. It's jest one of them things which crops up in a country like this, where a whole heap o' the laws happens along through custom. An' like all sech customs, ther's li'ble to be a tarnation lot of friction lyin' around if we can't get a right settlement. Now, if we go to the courts it's goin' to be a mighty big scrap, eatin' up a hell of a pile of dollars. An' if you're wise to the ways of the law fellers you ken just about figger the verdict is goin' to come along to the feller with the biggest wad. In this case I guess I'm the feller with the biggest wad. Now, ther's no sort o' bad blood between Peters an' me, 'cep' it is he will sing hymns outrageous on a Sunday. Still, I ain't goin' to let that cut no ice. I'm out for a square decision between us by a feller that don't know the meanin' of graft. I don't care a cuss who gets it. But I ain't goin' to be bluffed by any fancy legal readings of a position by city lawyers who don't know the north end of a steer goin' south from the cluckin' proposition of a blind hen motherin' a litter o' dormice. Peters here'll give you his case, seein' he's plaintiff, in an elegant flow of warm air, an' when he's through I'll sort of hand you a counterblast. An' when we finished you'll hand out your dope on the subject, that is if we ain't talked you into a home for incurable arbitrators. You'll get busy right away, Peters."
The rancher's manner was irresistible in its breezy frankness and generosity. Jeff wondered at him. Any man of modern business methods, he felt, would have jumped at the advantage which his wealth would have given him in the law courts over so insignificant a person as Elias Peters. The whole situation inspired in him the feeling that he was in the presence of a really big man. A man who deserved every fraction of his success.
Nor was there any doubt as to the little gray man's feelings as he took a drink of whisky, and fixed his small eyes upon the weather and years-lined features of his adversary.