“He weighed one hundred and twenty pounds, of which twenty-five went to head and fifty to feet.  Feet!  You never saw such feet.  They were the grandest feet that ever wore a man; long and high and wide, and all that feet should be.  Chawley said that Alexander had ground plan enough for a company of nigger soldiers.  And hung to Aleck’s running gear, they reminded you of the swinging jigger in a clock.  They almost make me forget his hands.  When Aleck laid a flipper on a cayuse’s back, you’d think the critter was blanketed.  And then there was his Adam’s apple—­he had so many special features, it’s hard to keep track of them.  About a foot of Aleck’s protrudin’ into air was due to neck.  In the center of that neck was an Adam’s apple that any man might be proud of.

“His complexion consisted of freckles; when you spoke to him sudden he blushed, and then he looked for all the world like a stormy sunset.  His eyes were white, and so was his hair, and so was poor old Aleck—­as white a kid as they make ’em, and, beyond guessing, the skeeriest—­not relatin’ to things, but to people.  How he come to drift out into our country was a story all by itself.  He was disappointed in love—­he had to be.  One look at him and you’d know why.  So he sailed out to the wild West, where he was about as useful as a trimmed nighty.  We always stood between Aleck and the old man, until the boy got so he’d make straight once out of a possible five.

[Illustration:  He was disappointed in love—­he had to be.]

“First off, he was still; then, findin’ himself in a confidential crowd, and bustin’ to let us know, his trouble, he told us all about it.  He’d never spoke to the girl, it seems, more’n to say, ‘How-d’ye-do, ma’am,’ and blush, and sit on his hat, and make curious moves with them hands and feet; but there come another feller along, and Alexander quit.

“‘You got away?’ says Scraggs.  ’Permit me to congratulate you, sir!’ And he took hold of as much of Aleck’s right wing as he could gather, and shook it hard.  ‘Alas!’ says he, ’how different is the tale I have to tell.’

“‘But I didn’t want to come away!’ stutters Alexander.

“‘Didn’t want to?’ cries Scraggs, letting the pipe fall out of his mouth.  Then he turns to me and taps his brow with his finger, casting a pitying eye on Aleck.

“As time went on Aleck got worse and worse.  He had a case of ingrowing affection; it cut his weight down to ninety pounds.  With him leaving himself at that rate, you could take pencil and paper and figure to the minute when Alexander Fulton was booked to cross the big divide.  And we liked the kid.  In spite of his magnificent feet, and his homeliness, and his thumb-handsidedness, I got to feel sort of as if he was my boy—­though if ever I have a boy like Aleck, I put in my vote for marriage being a failure, and everything lost, honor and all.  Probably it was more as if he