As Milt had headed westward from Butte, as he rattled peacefully along

the road, conscious of golden haze over all the land, and the

unexpectedness of prairie threshing-crews on the sloping fields of

mountainsides, a man had stepped out from bushes beside the road, and

pointed a .44 navy revolver.

The man was not a movie bandit. He wore a green imitation of a Norfolk

jacket, he had a broad red smile, and as he flourished his hat in a bow,

his hair was a bristly pompadour of gray-streaked red that was almost

pink. He made oration: "Pardon my eccentric greeting, brother of the open road, but I wanted

you to give ear to my obsequious query as to how's chances on gettin' a

lift? I have learned that obsequiousness is best appreciated when it is

backed up by prayer and ca'tridges."

"What's the idea? I seem to gather you'd like a lift. Jump in."

"You do not advocate the Ciceronian style, I take it," chuckled the man

as he climbed aboard.

Milt was not impressed. Claire might have been, but Milt had heard

politics and religion argued about the stove in Rauskukle's store too

often to be startled by polysyllabomania. He knew it was often the sign

of a man who has read too loosely and too much by himself. He snorted.

"Huh! What are you--newspaper, politics, law, preacher, or gambler?"

"Well, a little of all those interesting occupations. And

ten-twent-thirt trouping, and county-fair spieling, and selling Dr.

Thunder Rapids' Choctaw Herbal Sensitizer. How far y' going?"

"Seattle."

"Honest? Say, kid, this is---- Muh boy, we shall have the rare privilege

of pooling adventures as far as Blewett Pass, four to six days' run from

here--a day this side of Seattle. I'm going to my gold-mine there. I'll

split up on the grub--I note from your kit that you camp nights. Quite

all right, my boy. Pinky Parrott is no man to fear night air."

He patted Milt's shoulder with patronizing insolence. He filled a pipe

and, though the car was making twenty-five, he lighted the pipe with

distinguished ease, then settled down to his steady stride: "In the pride of youth, you feel that you have thoroughly categorized

me, particularly since I am willing to admit that, though I shall have

abundance of the clinking iron men to buy my share of our chow, I chance

just for the leaden-footed second to lack the wherewithal to pay my

railroad fare back to Blewett; and the bumpers and side-door Pullman of

the argonauts like me not. Too damn dusty. But your analysis is

unsynthetic, though you will scarce grasp my paradoxical metaphor."

"The hell I won't. I've taken both chemistry and rhetoric," growled

Milt, strictly attending to driving, and to the desire to get rid of his

parasite.




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