“That’s the way she is,” declared Sleepy. “I got off in about the same way Hashknife did. My folks wanted to honor Idaho; so they moved over near Pocatello before I was born. I went to school, when they could find a man who was brave enough to teach the risin’ sons—which wasn’t no ways regular. The last teacher we had was a horse-thief, and he almost got me mixed up with him in a deal.
“I jist kinda growed up, got some wildeyed ideas, and follered a bunch of geese South. I had a lot of corners on me, and inside of three years I had ’em all knocked off. In three years more I had hollers where there used to be bumps. About that time I decided that there was a —— of a lot of other folks in the world; so I sawed off my horns and held my elbows close to my sides, when I went through a crowd. I eventually drifted to the Hashknife outfit, where I finds my pardner. I dunno just how or why he picked up with me, but we’ve been together ever since.”
“I felt sorry for yuh,” said Hashknife solemnly.
“Yeah, and I’ve felt sorry for myself ever since.”
From out in the patio came the raucous bray of Apollo, as if he had joined the laugh. The three men sauntered out into the patio, where Apollo was nosing around in a water-bucket. He looked them over suspiciously and angled crab-wise toward Sleepy, who was wise in the ways of a burro.
“Git away from me, yuh —— relic,” snorted Sleepy, slapping at the burro with his hat. Marion came from the house, laughing at Sleepy’s antics, and they grouped together at the well.
“Apollo is a family heirloom,” laughed Marion. “No man knows his age. The Indians say he was here when they came, and he has never grown old, except in appearance.”
Marion put one arm over the burro’s neck and rubbed his nose with her hand.
“He loves me,” she said.
“And I heard a man say once that a burro didn’t have any sense,” smiled Hashknife.