We pilgrims out into the rain, and after a while we hit the railroad track again. It ain’t good walking, but a railroad track will get you some place if you foller it long enough. And that’s what I did. I ain’t had nothing to eat for so long that I’m beginning to wish for something—even milk.
Then comes daylight. I’d say that Ike Harper ain’t much to look at. He ain’t got no hat, and the real estate lieth thick upon him. Some sheep are drifting along, and I finds the shepherd standing on the track. As I come up, he grins and says—
“Lookin’ fer a baby?”
My gun was empty, but rocks are plentiful. I chased that shepherd across country until one of my hounds runs between my legs and tripped me. Then I went back to the track and pilgrimed on.
Later on I comes to a town, which is what will happen to anybody if they follers a railroad long enough. I pilgrims up to the depot. In the shade of the building I sees a familiar figure setting on the edge of the platform. I sets down beside him.
There’s some crackers and cheese and sardines scattered around him, and I helps myself, while I watches him try to get his feet into a pair of new boots—yaller boots, too.
“Can I help you?” I asks.
But he yanks the boots away and sets on ’em.
“Not this pair!” he snorts, producing a pair of tweezers.
I watches him dig out a few more cactus spines and then try to get a number seventeen foot into a number twelve boot. He groans, puts the boots away and slips a pair of moccasins on his feet. Then he sighs and rolls a smoke.