At this point Swinnerton Loughburne staggered to the window, threw it open, and leaned out into the cold night.  After a time he had strength enough to return to his chair and read through the rest of the epistle without interruption.

“You wonder how I’ve reached the new viewpoint?  Simply by seeing some concentrated life here at the Cumberland ranch.  My theories are blasted and knocked in the head—­praise God!—­and I’ve brushed a million cobwebs out of my brain.  Chemistry?  Rot!  There’s another sort of chemistry that works on the inside of a man.  That’s what I want to study.  There are three great preliminary essentials to the study: 

   1st:  How to box with a man.
   2nd:  How to talk with a girl.
   3rd:  How to drink old wine.

Try the three, Swinnerton; they aren’t half bad.  At first they may give you a sore jaw, an aching heart, and a spinning head, but in the end they teach you how to keep your feet and fight!

“This is how my eyes were opened.

“When I came out to this ranch it was hard for me to ride a horse.  So I’ve been studying how it should be done.  Among other things, you should keep your toes turned in, you know.  And there are many other things to learn.

“When I had mastered them one by one I went out the other day and asked to have a horse saddled.  It was done, and a lantern-jawed cowpuncher brought out a piebald gelding with long ears and sleepy eyes.  Not a lovely beast, but a mild one.  So I went into the saddle according to theory—­with some slight hesitations here and there, planted my feet in the stirrups, and told the lantern-jawed fellow to turn loose the head of the piebald.  This was done.  I shook the reins.  The horse did not move.  I called to the brute by name.  One ear wagged back to listen to me.

“I kicked the beast in the ribs.  Unfortunately I had forgotten that long spurs were on my heels.  The horse was instantly aware of that fact, however.  He leaped into a full gallop.  A very jolty process.  Then he stopped—­but I kept on going.  A fence was in the way, so I was halted.  Afterwards the lantern-jawed man picked me up and offered to carry me back to the house or at least get a wheelbarrow for me.  I refused with some dignity.  I remarked that I preferred walking, really, and so I started out across the hills and away from the house.  My head was sore; so were my shoulders where I hit the fence; I began to think of the joy of facing that horse again, armed with a club.

“It was evening—­after supper, you see—­and the light of the moon was already brighter than the sunlight.  And by the time I had crossed the first range of hills, it was quite dark.  As I walked I brooded upon many things.  There were enough to disturb me.