“That’s right, Mr. Bradford,” sez I respectful. “You’d have to ride back anyway, so you might as well come on with us an’ have a pleasant outing.”
“Besides,” sez Tank, “up there in the Wind River country we stand a chance o’ gettin’ somethin’ for our nerves, if the Injuns happen to be in a good humor. Those Injun doctors know all about hurbs an’ which diseases they grow for, an’ when they’re in a good humor, they’ll sell ya some.”
“What’ll they do if they’re not in a good humor?” asked Horace.
“Well, that’s the beatin’est question I’ve yet heard!” sez Tank. “How does any one know what an Injun’ll do when he’s not in a good humor? I don’t reckon any one ever tried to learn the answer to that question. When an Injun’s not in a good humor, either you’ve got to kill him or he’ll kill you. If we hear tell ’at they’re out o’ humor, we’ll simply scurry back at the first hint, an’ don’t you forget it.”
Horace wasn’t resigned yet; so he kept sawin’ away with his questions all the time we were tyin’ on the beds an’ grub. The grass had been purty brown down below, but it was fat an’ green up above, an’ the ponies felt fine. We had picked out good ones, an’ it took some time to get ’em wore down to where they was willin’ to pack; but by seven o’clock we were ready to start, an’ then Tank lifted Horace into the saddle, while I held the pony’s head. We had chose a steady old feller for Horace, because we didn’t want any serious accidents. Ol’ Cast Steel was dead again’ sheepin’ the Easteners, an’ I knew they’d be doin’s about what we’d done already, let alone havin’ any sort of a mishap.
We told Horace just what to do to save himself, an’ we fixed his stirrups to just fit him; but he took it purty hard. It takes a ridin’-man a couple o’ weeks to harden up after he’s laid off a spell; but when a man begins to do his first ridin’ at forty, it comes ex-tremely awkward. Horace was the first feller I ever saw get sea-sick on hossback; but he certainly did have a bad attack. I suppose it was the best thing ’at could have happened to him, an’ after he was emptied out, he rode some easier. We only covered about thirty miles that day altogether, an’ Tank had plenty o’ time to get all the sleep he could use; but when he came to lift Horace down from the saddle, Horace couldn’t make his legs stiff enough to stand on.
We let him stretch out while we were makin’ camp; but he fell asleep, so we had to wake him up to help get supper. I was beginnin’ to feel sorry for him, but he had pestered us regardless about his nerves, an’ I knew ’at pity for him now would be the worse for him in the long run.
After supper, Horace spent consid’able time in bewailin’ his fate because he had got disgusted an’ thrown his whole box o’ cigars into the fire. “I’ve got an extra pipe, if you’d like to try that,” sez Tank. “It’s lots better for the nerves than cigars—though from what I can tell o’ you, you ain’t bothered much with nerves. I wish to glory I was in your skin.”
“Oh, man,” sez Horace, “you can’t imagine how I suffer. I ache like a sore tooth all over, an’ it gives me a cute pain just to sit here on the grass.”
“Sit on the saddle-blankets,” sez Tank, sympathetic. As soon as Horace had piled up the blankets an’ sat down on ’em, groanin’ most bitter, Tank sez with feelin’: “Gee, how I envy you. You have nothin’ but a few muscle-aches and chafed skin an’ such, while my nerves is beginnin’ to threaten me again. I’m not goin’ to bother either o’ you fellers, though. I’m goin’ to have you tie me to a tree to-night if I can’t sleep.”